Over the past decade, Lainey Wilson has established herself as a Nashville force. The reigning CMA Entertainer of the Year and recently-inducted Grand Ole Opry member has written songs for the likes of Luke Combs and Flatland Cavalry; she’s appeared on the modern Western Yellowstone after having songs of hers featured on the hit series; and she’s steadily released catchy, punchy albums that mash up Southern rock, soul, and classic Nashville ideals into a genre that she’s dubbed “bell-bottom country.”
Since releasing her first full-length album in 2014, Wilson has refined and built on that concept, polishing and expanding the boundaries of her sound while keeping the honest storytelling and all-in singing that powers her best work intact. With her third major-label album, Whirlwind, the Louisiana native flexes her songwriting and vocal muscles, distilling them through a megawatt charm that brings the listener directly into the heart of whatever she might be singing about.
She’s not afraid to take big swings, even if they’re silly; anyone who’s confident enough to declare “Doggone daggummit, didn’t see that comin’/Country’s cool again,” which Wilson does in euphoric fashion on the galloping nod to country’s recent pop resurgence, “Country’s Cool Again,” clearly is happy with putting their whole self into whatever they are singing.
As Wilson notes, country has indeed had a bit of a crossover resurgence in recent months, with Morgan Wallen’s supersize records setting up shop atop the album charts, Zach Bryan turning his ornately crafted tales of small-town life into pop gold, and big names like Beyoncé and Post Malone making their own forays into the genre. If there’s any justice, Wilson’s TV fame will propel her to even bigger stardom; her music has a blend of brawn, heart, and willingness to upend the status quo that’s not only listenable, but also the kind of thing you can’t help but root for.
Wilson’s finely-tuned lyrics and immediate hooks make the feelings she’s singing about feel massive and ready to bring in any listeners for comfort, particularly on the arena-ready drinking lament “Bar in Baton Rouge” (“The good thing about rock bottom/Is up’s the only way/I’m about to open up a can of healing this heartbreak,” she muses) and the keep-your-head-up ballad “Middle of It.” On the latter, she sounds like she could be singing to a former version of herself: “You were heartbroke that boy did ya wrong/Your pride took a hit but you wrote a hit song,” she sings in a sympathetic cadence that’s just knowing enough to imply her intimate familiarity with the situation.
While Whirlwind has its more playful moments, like the strummy depiction of puppy love “Counting Chickens” and the kick-him-to-the-curb stomper “Ring Finger,” it’s at its best when Wilson is in full-on power-ballad mode, showing off how her brassy soprano can buckle at just the right moments. “Call a Cowboy” is a dazzling ode to someone who’s “rock-steady-loaded, locked, and ready” that captures awe in its sweeping riffs and Wilson’s reach-for-the-heavens vocals; she cleverly hides that it’s actually a love song until just before it ends. “Good Horses,” a duet with fellow country disrupter Miranda Lambert, is luminous, with the two singers’ voices braiding as they trade commiseration about how they, too, need to run wild sometimes. And the title track is a love song that feels as big as a Western sky, with Wilson taking the central metaphor and twisting it into the serene declaration that “loving you’s a breeze.”
Wilson has established herself as one of country’s most appealing stars, her blend of songwriting chops and bubbly charm winning over audiences in Nashville’s community and in arenas. On Whirlwind, she lassos her Everywoman appeal and her skills as a songsmith and vocalist into 14 songs that feel ready for repeated jukebox plays at dive bars and honky-tonks all across the country.
Ken Casey stuck around after the show in San Diego, California, talking to members of the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers.John Francis Peters for Rolling Stone
Some of the challenge-coin haul.
The band started as a bet. “My band has a show in three weeks,” Casey’s coworker told him in 1996. “I dare you to open for us.”John Francis Peters for Rolling Stone
Dropkick Murphys (from left): Casey, DaRosa, Webster, Kelly, Rheault, Brennan, and Lynch John Francis Peters for Rolling Stone
Casey is largely the voice of the band, but the other members back him up. “We’re so lucky he’s the mouthpiece,” says Brennan, left. John Francis Peters for Rolling Stone
“Only the Irish can take a song about death and destruction, famine, alcoholism, and raise a glass like it’s an anthem,” says Casey. John Francis Peters for Rolling Stone
“Anytime it feels like things are about to plateau for us, something gives us a little bump,” says guitarist Lynch. “It feels exciting. It feels dangerous. It feels like doing something.” John Francis Peters for Rolling Stone
Jay-Z performing at the Stade de France in Saint-Denis in Paris.
Jay-Z Deserves the Super Bowl Halftime Gig
Where’s the love? Jay-Z asked that question 25 years ago, in the chorus of one of many songs in his catalog that still move audiences today. If he performs “Heart of the City” as part of his Super Bowl halftime show next February, those indignant bars are sure to be a highlight: “First the Fat Boys break up, now every day I wake up, somebody got a problem with Hov…” It would be an appropriate choice, too — because then as now, any time Jay-Z notches a new achievement, people find a way to complain.
The jokes and nonsense started almost as soon as the first rumors trickled out that Jay, whose company Roc Nation has executive-produced the Super Bowl halftime show since 2019, might be choosing himself to headline next year’s show. “Jay-Z just Dick Cheney’d himself for the Super Bowl,” Puck‘s Matthew Belloni quipped on X last week, alluding to the time that the late prince of darkness, who’d been asked to run the vice-presidential search committee for George W. Bush’s 2000 campaign, put himself on the ticket. (Super hip and current reference, and not at all apples-and-oranges.) Others pointed to TMZ reports that pop stars like Harry Styles and Justin Bieber had been asked first. “How are they the frontrunners, and he end up in the front?” Cam’Ron, who’s delighted in trolling Jay for many years, wondered aloud on his podcast. “Out of all the people on the roster, they couldn’t pick nobody else?” asked Cam’Ron‘s co-host, Ma$e.
These critiques miss the point, which is that Jay-Z is one of the best choices for a high-profile gig like this. He’s a superstar with a comparable level of name recognition to any other A-lister in music. He has a deep stack of classic songs going back decades. And he’s a highly skillful live performer who knows his way around a stadium stage, as he’s spent this year reminding people on his Jay-Z 30 tour. He tore down Yankee Stadium three nights in a row this summer; just last week, he rocked SoFi Stadium, which happens to be the same place where the 2027 Super Bowl is being held. He held the crowd’s attention with ease at all of those shows, and though there were plenty of glittery guests — that’s a given at a Jay show, and it will surely be true at the Super Bowl, too — he did it mostly through the force of his own magnetic energy. Let’s state the obvious here: Jay-Z is really, really good at rapping. We’re talking about one of the slickest, sharpest talkers in the history of words, someone who made it to the top through a sustained act of myth-making, then kept going. Are we seriously asking whether he can handle a 15-minute televised performance?
And yeah, there’s a touch of self-congratulation in the way he appointed himself. So what? Praising his own gifts is arguably Jay-Z’s greatest talent of all. He made a fine art out of self-applause. He told his story again and again, retracing the steps from Marcy Projects to the corner suite, and he made us believe. It would almost be insulting to the audience if he didn’t give himself the gig at some point.
Pop culture observers in recent years surely remember the backlash to Super Bowl headliners like Kendrick Lamar and Bad Bunny — all of it at least culturally conservative, and much of it frankly just racist. The blowback to Jay’s announcement is mostly coming from other quarters, at least for now (let’s just wait to see what the right-wing swamps make of this one). But it’s disappointing in a different way. Jay-Z has spent his career expounding hip-hop as a mainstream commercial force. He’s not a businessman, he’s a business, man. But he’s also an artist. He’s made huge amounts of money, and gotten himself into the rarefied rooms where he even has the ability to give himself a gig like this, by spinning his experiences into compelling narrative art, one verse at a time. Let’s not lose sight of how impressive his life’s work really is. Jay-Z is not some random C-suite bro, and he’s definitely not Dick Cheney. He’s one of the greatest rappers of all time, by any measure. He’s earned that Super Bowl spot.