Beyoncé is right – music genres can force artists into conformity. But ditching them isn’t an option

Beyoncé appeared visibly astonished to hear her album Cowboy Carter had won best country album at this year’s Grammy Awards. Onstage, the singer offered a heartfelt reflection on musical genre:

I think sometimes genre is a code word to keep us in our place as artists and I just want to encourage people to do what they’re passionate about and stay persistent.

Beyoncé’s speech built on a more pointed critique of genre found in one of the tracks from her album, SPAGHETTII.

The track opens with a soundbite from Linda Martell, a pioneering Black country music singer who enjoyed commercial success in the 1960s, but whose career was marred by both overt racial abuse and accusations she didn’t “sound black”. In the soundbite, Martell says:

Genres are a funny little concept, aren’t they? […] In theory, they have a simple definition that’s easy to understand, but in practice, well, some may feel confined.

This description of confinement was echoed in 2024, when the Country Music Association Awards controversially excluded Cowboy Carter from the nomination process due to insufficient radio airplay, as per the award rules.

Media reports claimed some country radio stations refused to play, or were slow to play, Beyoncé’s new album because they didn’t recognise her as a country artist.

Debates about the usefulness of genre have been around for a while, and won’t disappear anytime soon. Beyoncé’s Grammy win presses us to consider the relevance of genre in the modern music world – and the extent to which these rigid definitions can be justified.

Is ‘genre’ useful in music?

On one level, genre is a simple and necessary mechanism for categorising different types of music. Genre encodes various aspects of music, including instrumentation, the time period it originates from, its emotional character, and the melodic, rhythmic and harmonic conventions it employs.

Terms such as jazz, rock, country, R&B, metal, hip-hop, folk and EDM are rich in meaning, and are routinely used as identity markers for performers – and for award categories at events like the Grammys. They also help us discuss our musical preferences, and teach and learn about music in educational settings.

At the same time, these terms remain fluid and contested. Research tracking the rise and fall of musical genres highlights the power genres have in shaping our understanding and experience of music.

Consider rock as an example. In the early 1950s, radio disc jockeys popularised the term rock'n'roll to describe a distinct style that drew from genres including rhythm and blues, gospel and country music, but which differed from each of these in character and function.

The societal adoption of rock'n'roll as a “new” genre wasn’t just driven by the features present in the music, but by its resonance with a teenage audience for whom it signalled rebellion, associations with sexuality and a merging of different American music cultures.

Just as Elvis Presley came to embody the genre, divergent practices gave rise to new and adapted terminology. “Rockabilly” (a style that combines elements of country and rock'n'roll) entered the lexicon. Rock'n'roll simply became “rock” and numerous adjectives such as “folk”, “psychedelic”, “progressive”, “punk”, “classic” and “hard” were attached to make sense of the continually evolving style.

I’d argue the music of Elvis Presley has little in common with the stoner rock band Kyuss, yet we group them in the same broad musical taxonomy.

Research has revealed significant inconsistencies in how people use and understand music genre terminology. Nonetheless, genre labels have historically been considered useful tools to communicate meaningful information about musical experiences.

So, what’s Beyoncé’s problem with genre?

Problems can arise for musicians when genres don’t simply describe musical practices, but work to control or distort them. Record labels have a profit imperative that incentivises artists to create music that’s easily categorised into well-established genres.

The risk this incentive poses to creativity has traditionally been offset by audiences demanding new and diverse music – alongside a flourishing independent musical culture that either ignores or is overtly antagonistic towards the generic preferences of large record labels.

That said, musicians are also pushed to adhere to narrow definitions of genre due to search functions in streaming services and methodologies used by music charts.

For example, the ARIA (Australian Recording Industry Association) charts’ code of practice lists six genre charts: core classical, country, crossover/classical, dance, hip hop/R&B, and jazz and blues. And while the ARIAs have a range of mechanisms to track record sales, the codification of these genres inevitably influences Australian musicians who wish to make a living from their music.

Beyond this, powerful cultural associations with certain genres can make their boundaries difficult to cross. Sometimes genre boundaries are rightly inflexible – particularly those associated with regional music-making or First Peoples’ cultures.

Cowboy Carter however, represents a rediscovery and celebration of Black country musicians. It draws attention to how these musicians were neglected because they didn’t align with prevailing assumptions about the genre.

The fact that Beyoncé’s choice to explore country music was in any way contentious emphasises this point. The foray by The Beatles’ drummer Ringo Starr into country music was, by contrast, uncontroversial.

Genre as a framework is, ultimately, necessary. It’s impossible to discuss music without some way of making sense of it all. Listeners, however, should recognise that rigid genre definition can distort creativity. They should also reflect on whether it may be distorting their listening habits, too.