Beyoncé’s London Cowboy Carter show made me homesick for a US that doesn’t exist

When Beyoncé sang the American national anthem on the first night of her London Cowboy Carter tour dates, I instinctively placed my cowboy hat over my heart, unsure whether I was pledging allegiance to the US flag or Beyoncé herself.

As Tottenham Hotspur Stadium filled with (nearly) 62,000 Londoners in chaps, Levi’s, cowboy boots, and the occasional bolo tie, I bizarrely felt more connected to the country I left nearly three years ago than I ever did during my final decade living there.

That might be because Beyoncé presents a version of the American South not as it is, but as it could be: inclusive, textured, full of contradiction and pride, defiant of unjust power structures, and rooted in the stories of people who refused to disappear – no matter how hard the world tried to erase them.

This defiance is nothing new for her. Beyoncé has long navigated the delicate balance between American patriotism and protest. She’s been criticised for everything from her 2016 Super Bowl performance that paid tribute to the Black Panthers, to her support of Black Lives Matter, to the visual album Lemonade, which unapologetically explored infidelity, rage, and Black womanhood.

And then there’s the country music establishment, which has famously tried to keep the Texas-native on the outside.

With this context, Cowboy Carter is Beyoncé’s way of reclaiming a genre, a flag, and a cultural identity, not just for herself, but for everyone who’s ever been told they don’t belong by the American establishment.

While I was moved to tears repeatedly by this message, I did wonder if the concert didn’t strike a less compellingly personal chord with a UK crowd. 

Could it have been alienating to anyone who didn’t grow up listening to Willie Nelson in the backseat of their daddy’s pickup? Maybe. But it doesn’t matter. 

Even if the images of pioneering Black country singer Sister Rosetta Thorpe were lost on you or you didn’t immediately recognise a famous Texas line dance when it broke out on stage, the power of the performance was undeniable.  

While the country album’s contents took up almost half the set, there was something for everyone by the end of the concert. Fans were treated to Crazy In Love, If I Were A Boy, Single Ladies (Put A Ring On It), a very short rendition of Irreplaceable, Daddy Lessons from Lemonade, and several hits from Renaissance. 

It was a goose-bump-inducing pleasure to watch the icon strut the length of the stage and flip her hair, so when she joined in the choreography, it felt like staggering generosity from a star with nothing left to prove. 

Perhaps the most moving moment of the show came when the singer stood completely motionless in a ball gown that, via projection, changed colors and designs in sync with the soaring notes of the song Daughter.

It’s a song that references the violence and toxic-Christianity woven into the fabric of Southern culture, and when she sings: ‘Now I ripped your dress and you’re all black and blue/ Look what you made me do..’ it’s with all the power and perspective of a Shakespearan monologue. 

So when a message that read, ‘THIS IS THEATRE’ later flashed across the screen, it felt undeniably true. 

The pop diva spoke infrequently, but when she did, there was a sense of a performer who no longer needed to worry about putting on airs or sticking too tightly to a script. Almost counterintuitively, becoming the most famous person in the world allows Beyoncé the freedom to be herself.

She grinned at the crowd after every voice in the place shouted along to Irreplaceable, giggling into the mic: ‘Did y’all know every word to that thang? Did that just happen like that?’

One of the most talked-about moments of the night occurred during her performance of Protector. As she sang, her eldest daughter, Blue Ivy – who performs as a backup dancer throughout the show – stood just behind her. 

Then, to a roar of surprise and delight from the crowd, seven-year-old Rumi walked on stage and wrapped her arms around her mother in a tender hug.

There had been speculation about whether Rumi would appear during the London shows, so the eruption of cheers visibly delighted the little girl, and Beyoncé’s beaming smile read as nothing but genuine pride.

With another artist, this level of family involvement might risk coming across as gimmicky or even exploitative. But Beyoncé – who’s long past the point of doing anything she doesn’t want to – makes it feel like something else entirely: a mother sharing her passion with her daughters and loving them boldly, in front of the world.

The only criticism of Cowboy Carter’s London leg worth mentioning has nothing to do with Beyoncé or her crew. Bizarrely, given that it’s a football stadium, the venue seemed unprepared for the crowd’s exit. A chaotic queue system for the overground descended into utter confusion, and buses literally passed by crowds of concertgoers, unwilling or unable to accommodate the cowboy-hat-clad masses.  

But a two-and-a-half-hour journey home is a small price to pay for a night that combined the best of stadium concerts, theater, and star power so bright it shined a spotlight on powerful truths.

Thanks to Beyonce, for the first time in a long time, I feel proud to be an American.

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