My only interactions with the show America’s Got Talent happen once a year when my Youtube algorithm feeds me a recap of every golden buzzer from the newest season. For anyone who hasn’t seen the show, the idea is that performers from around the country line up in huge numbers to display their talents in front of a studio audience and panel of four judges. Throughout the auditions, each judge (along with the host) selects one act for whom they feel overwhelming support and pushes the golden buzzer. The buzzer makes the other judges’ vote threshold irrelevant and allows the act to pass the next set of cuts, making it straight to the live competition.
Every single year at least one of the golden buzzer moments in the recap video makes me cry. In an instant, I can recall handfuls of performances that left a lasting mark: the young singer who survived cancer and sang a cover of “Fight Song” by Rachel Platten, the softest parts of her voice sending chills up my arm; my first introduction to twelve-year-old Grace VanderWaal, where she sang an original song called “I Don’t Know My Name” about searching for one’s identity; the woman who was going deaf and sang an original song, all while knowing she would not be able to sing for much longer; when a young duo sang and rapped an original song about overcoming childhood bullying and abuse; Callum Scott’s viral cover of “Dancing on My Own” by Robyn, performed moments after watching his sister’s act get rejected. I rewatched these videos as I was finding their links and was quickly sobbing all over again.
As you can gleam from the small synapses of the acts that usually affect my tear ducts, they tend to be rooted in pain. You are watching what is likely to be one of the best moments of a person’s life, while also witnessing a display of deep sorrow in some form or another. This year, the act that had me on the floor was Capel Hart’s performance of their original song, “You Can Keep Him Jolene.” What spurred me to write this piece, rather than simply wiping my eyes and moving onto the next funny cat video (in metaphor only, because I hate cats :)), was that their act was soaked in joy. It’s not that the other acts did not have moments of exuberance, it’s that Capel Hart embodied joy in their lyrics, music, dance choreography, and personas so thoroughly that throughout their entire performance I was sobbing AND beaming — a combination that does not happen often. I was moved by their happiness, but also saddened by the intrinsic knowledge that their version of happiness is so rarely seen in Country Music (capital C, capital M).
Capel Hart has a deep love for Dolly Parton. They even jokingly advocated for her hypothetical run for presidency (which reminded me of one of the only happy days on the internet during the pandemic when Dolly Parton donated money to help with vaccine research). Born of this love, the trio wanted to write an update to Parton’s song “Jolene,” saying “from 1973 to 2022 we could not still be fighting over the same man, so we decided to tell her, ‘you can just have him Jolene.’” What ensued was a uptempo, harmonious, deviously fun performance. The world has spent years with Jolene, but this felt like the first time we were getting to see the woman across the table from her.
I was already crying before Capel Hart described their journey in Country Music, particularly the years of rejection in Nashville; they do not look like traditional Country Music stars and were treated accordingly. As I scrolled through the comments section of the Youtube clip, my eye was caught by one man’s post: “Country Music doesn't look like you. Country Music now aspires to BE you!” With that, my emotions made sense to me.
It is not unusual to be moved by stories of racism and exclusion. It is not unusual to be moved by the triumphs of those faced by racism and exclusion. It is unusual, however, to be crying for the oppressors rather than the oppressed. In this case, I wasn't just thinking of the black and brown girls who would finally see themselves in Country Music (myself included). Nor was I just thinking about the trio’s pain as they pushed on for years, facing undue rejections all while knowing deep down that they were good enough. Instead, at the forefront of my mind was the tragedy of smallness of which the world was getting a mere glimpse.
This smallness exists within Country Music, in schools, in homes, anywhere and everywhere all across America. It is each opportunity for progress that has been spurned because the status quo simply could not imagine. It is each failure to see greatness because our definition of great has been fitted so narrowly. As a country music fan, I was not just crying for these incredible women who had been denied from our collective consciousness. I was crying because, by disallowing them, we had denied ourselves the pleasure of their abilities. As a woman of color, I have spent years empathizing with other women of color who have been put down. This moment, for the first time, I instead felt pity for the cloud of Country Music — the mainstream decision makers in Nashville. As the commenter wrote, “Country Music now aspires to BE you!” Yes. It does. And it’s not because it needs to hit a quota or appear diverse. It’s not because it wants to be applauded for its wokeness, and thus its relevance. It is because Chapel Hart is having so much damn fun, and Country Music cannot pass up on that much joy.
When Simon Cowell asked the group where they see themselves in five years, one member of the trio confidently responded, “world domination.” I believe her. It is a shame that Country Music has failed to allow for a clear path for their success. It is Country Music’s deep loss, felt as well by the rest of us who have also been deprived as a result of the industry’s smallness of thought. Losses like this one contribute to a sense of stagnation that has been building within the country music world. Part of the beauty of America’s Got Talent, the reason it has subsisted for seventeen seasons, is because it gives a stage to each and every person who deserves it. It is worth noting that by the time Chapel Hart took their moment in the limelight, all of the golden buttons had been used. The crowd was unrelenting, however. They persisted in standing and chanting “golden button,” despite knowing it was not an option as outlined by the rules of the show. Based on the value of Chapel Hart’s performance and the support they received from the body of people listening, the judges collectively decided to create a golden button for them. This standard of care is the kind that benefits us all.
In some way, each of us is harmed when inequalities occur. When tragedies of these kind ensue, it feels like the world is getting the last laugh. People in power are unaffected and unbothered. The dejected are quieted and left without any elation to hold onto. Chapel Hart’s performance comes across like a premonition that screams “this is not the only way.” Due to three women’s fortitude, they are changing the trajectory of their story and giving the sadness that could be theirs to claim away. I applaud Chapel Hart for their resilience in getting the last laugh. I hope they can hear me loudly clapping along with the rest of the world.