Play that country music…

Girls' Life, Feb, 2001 by Terri-Lynne Waldron

The girl gets her groove on to Tim McGraw. So what's the prob?

The shock! The horror! A look of extreme confusion crosses all of my friends' faces when I tell them the unthinkable! What is my crime, you ask? I've just revealed that I scored tix to see Faith Hill and Tim McGraw in concert--and I'm totally stoked about it.

So what's all the fuss about? My friends and I are black, and I am committing the ultimate sin--crossing over to the "other side." My friends just don't get it. Sure, most of them admit liking the music of some white artists, but the musical color lines are clearly drawn for them--they'll take BET over CMT any day.

Although no one actually comes out and says it, there seems to be an underlying feeling in the air that I have somehow betrayed my race by embracing white musicians. Some black people believe that because they're black, they're obligated to support only black recording artists. And here I am breaking that unwritten rule!

Recently, one of my friends hurled a huge insult at me. She said I am not black if I'm knee-deep in Backstreet Boys hoopla! I felt the urge to enlighten her by slinging back sarcasm, so I pointed to my wrist to show her my color has not faded. Yep, I still have the same skin tone I came into this world with.

Unfortunately, such ignorance is nothing new to me. I've encountered this attitude from my black brothers and sisters for eons. In reality, my CD collection represents an array of artists of many races. So I'm not "white-washed" or experiencing a lost identity. I am as race-conscious as the next black person, and I also happen to dig engaging in challenging conversations about race-related issues.

Yet music moves everyone in different ways, and I don't feel a need to apologize for my tastes. I can groove to the sounds of OutKast, Ja Rule and Mary J. Blige just like anyone else. So what if I go for a good dose of 'N Sync and Britney Spears from time to time? When I was 8, a relative called me an "Oreo cookie" because I blared Madonna over Janet Jackson. Being called an Oreo was really painful and could have been a major catalyst for my caving to peer pressure.

But it's important for me to be true to my tastes even if those tastes don't fit perfectly into some stereotypical category of what others believe I should be into. Let me trot out a tired old cliche here and say that music is a universal language. I should be free to gravitate toward whatever music makes me happy.

If the face on the CD cover doesn't resemble mine, does that mean I can't relate to the lyrics or be all about the music? When Lauryn Hill drops hip-hop beats, should her sounds move me and groove me just because we happen to be of the same race? The color of my skin should not pre-determine which artists' music attracts me.

Needless to say, many black kids peg me as an outsider. So what? Gaining acceptance from my peers has never been my bag anyway. Being labeled "weird" is practically a compliment to me. Does that mean I'm unique? An individual? Not a carbon copy? Cool! Little do my classmates realize that their insults make me stronger.

When I'm at the checkout counter at Tower Records, armed with CDs by Christina Aguilera and the Dave Matthews Band, I don't feel the slightest sense of guilt standing behind a black person loaded with Master P. Neither of us is more black than the other--we just choose to march to a different beat.