A couple weeks ago, country music superstar Maren Morris brilliantly summed up her attitude toward her critics with a single tweet: “And to the turkey-necked, fake Christian Karens who flood my mentions with utter nonsense, death threats, and laughable hypocrisy every chance you get, you keep me young.”
It was a succinct kiss-off that could’ve been prompted by any number of inciting “offenses” by the 31-year-old, who’s earned a reputation as a squeaky wheel in Nashville thanks to her candid (and liberal-leaning) thoughts on gun control, posing for Playboy, racial equality in country music, and fellow artist Morgan Wallen’s flippant use of the N-word, among other contentious topics.
But Morris has other, more important things on her mind. After the release of her sophomore effort, Girl, in 2019—as well as the debut album later that year from The Highwomen, the supergroup she formed with Brandi Carlile, Natalie Hemby, and Amanda Shires—Morris had her career upended by the pandemic, weathered a hurricane of hate from those aforementioned internet trolls, and dealt with postpartum depression after she and her husband, singer-songwriter Ryan Hurd, welcomed their son, Hayes, in March 2020. It was a humbling series of disappointments, and one that forced her to relinquish control.
All of that brings us to her third album, Humble Quest, out this Friday, on which we find a more observant, refined, and yes, humbled Maren. It’s a shorter and more subdued collection of pure country songs, albeit with a pristine pop sheen courtesy of superproducer Greg Kurstin, known for his work with Adele, Paul McCartney, and Foo Fighters. Ever the irreverent, genre-defying rocker, there are plenty of playful, loved-up boot-stompers (the singalong-friendly “I Can’t Love You Anymore,” the grungy, sexy “Nervous”). But there are also the requisite romantic ballads (“The Furthest Thing,” “Background Music”) as well as tender dedications to her son (“Hummingbird”) and to her late collaborator Michael Busbee (“What Would This World Do”), who died of cancer in 2019.
The emotional core of the album, however, is the title track, a stirring tale of self-discovery that sidles up nicely next to lead single “Circles Around This Town,” an autobiographical reflection on getting her start in Nashville, with lyrical callbacks to early hits like “My Church.” “Circles” is a reminder of how far Morris has come, but “Humble Quest” is her way of telling us she hasn’t made it yet.
Below, Morris speaks to The Daily Beast about learning to check her ego, moving country music “forward,” respecting Dolly Parton’s Rock Hall refusal, and, yes, confronting those trolls who keep her oh-so-young.
I was pleasantly surprised by how hopeful and optimistic this album is, considering the time during which you made it. Did you intentionally set out to make something lighter, or did that come naturally to you?
It was definitely intentional. I was writing certain songs that reflected the darkness I was feeling during a very tumultuous time of uncertainty. I was dealing with postpartum depression, and there were songs I was writing that were dark and reflecting what I was feeling. But I also knew those were just for me and I needed to get them out for myself. It wasn’t necessarily something that I wanted the rest of the world to consume. So yeah, it was intentional to kind of keep this record in the sunshine. And even though I’m tackling subjects on it that are internal and dark and heavy in some ways—like the last song, “What Would This World Do,” is about the death of my friend and producer Busbee, and “Humble Quest,” the title track, is dealing with self-inflicted anxieties—I think that it’s still living in a world of, like you said, hope. And I wanted to keep it there going forward for this era because the world was heavy enough. I didn’t need to, like, soundtrack it with the death toll bells.
On the title song, it seems like you’re transparent about still discovering who you are. I think there’s a weird expectation that by the time you get into your thirties, you’re supposed to have yourself all figured out, even though people never stop growing and changing. It seems like you’re really leaning into that idea on this album.
Yeah, and I think it’s just knowing with my ego and checking it every which way, knowing that it’s stupid to think you ever had it all figured out. The line that I wrote in “Humble Quest” where it’s like, “Damn, I do my best, but I still haven’t found it yet,” I think that’s how I’m going to feel forever. Maybe I’ll feel a little bit more settled in, but I’m always going to be searching for the deeper core of myself and stripping away those layers of insecurity and ego. I think a lot of that was done to me over the last two years, but yeah, I think it’s going to be ongoing for the rest of my life. And everyone’s life, actually. It was just a cool idea to toy with—the quest to figuring out your humility and what you can withstand and what you are absolutely wrong about, and just being open to exposing the fact that none of us know what the fuck we’re doing.
On “Humble Quest,” you sing, “I was so nice till I woke up / I was polite till I spoke up.” When did that shift happen for you, of feeling like you could stop being polite and start getting real, as The Real World would put it?
I’ve always stood up for what I think is right. I think we were all looking at our phones so much during the pandemic because we were stuck inside, and just, like, shooting off immediate thoughts via Twitter got me in trouble a couple times. Just realizing, oh, not every single thought that pops into my brain needs to be aired out, but also knowing that it’s brought so much education into my life doing so, was what created those lyrics of, “I was so nice till I woke up.” Once you open your eyes to inequalities within your own genre or injustices that you’ve been unintentionally complicit with, you cannot close your eyes again. I am forever changed in a lot of ways and I can’t go back now that I’m awake to what I’ve seen. I love it here, I love this town, but we’ve got a lot of work to do. And I think we’re having those uncomfortable conversations, but it’s just not moving quite fast enough.
What are some of the changes you want to see in Nashville?
I definitely want to see more balance when I listen to the radio or when I listen to the playlists that have country artists on it. I would love to see more diversity, more people of color, more LGBTQ perspectives, and more women, because the percentage is very off right now. And I think it homogenizes the sound. It keeps it at such a mediocre level. I just get excited to get back into the writing room when I hear diversity. And that doesn’t even just mean the person making it—the sounds are different. It makes for a better playing field and better music if we widen the scope of it.
It’s sometimes hard for long-lasting change to happen when something slips from being a so-called “hot-button” issue that’s in the news all the time, like it was in 2020.
We retreat back into our comfort zone of privilege. And I think that maintaining discomfort is the only way forward because it is the work being done, it’s the growing pains of moving. Stay uncomfortable, because that means that you’re growing and you’re trying to change. Maybe you will never figure it out fully, but just knowing that you can always ask questions and educate yourself. And when you see fucked-up shit, say something.
When people talk about being “humble,” they sometimes equate it with being quiet. “Be humble, sit down.” And that’s not at all how I view you. How do you see that balance between being humble but not being submissive?
That is the question that I was asking myself all throughout this recording and writing process. How do I stay grounded and fulfilled, but also absolutely know that I’m meant to be here, and I deserve to be here, and I’m good at what I do, and I’m self-assured, and I’m a grown-ass woman in her thirties? Like, I had a kid. I’ve seen some shit. How do I keep all of those things under the same umbrella, and what does it mean to me at the end of the day? Because “humble” is a word thrown around by complete strangers at you, most of the time. I think that especially for women, it’s our training to make ourselves smaller, to blend in and not make people uncomfortable. And we just become OK with being small.
So yeah, it’s kind of a fun push-pull to grow and be self-assured in what you’re doing and confident, but at the same time, you can be down to earth and can still go eat at Waffle House. (Laughs). So many things are humility to me. Like, the things that bring me joy are so simple. I love cooking. I love hanging out with my husband and my son and my friends. I go to bed at, like, 9 p.m. I’m not some partier or crazy personality off stage. I think I am humble in the realest sense of the word. But I also am really self-assured with my voice and my songwriting and my friendships and the place I’ve carved out in country music. But yeah, it’s always going to be a perpetual question mark of if I deserve to be here. That’s just part of being a human. But as I age and get older, I realize, yeah, I do. I do deserve to be here, and I am humble even saying that.
“Background Music” speaks to the idea of your songs, and your husband’s songs, outlasting you. Is your legacy something you think a lot about?
Not in the sense of the idea of me being remembered as important. I don’t think I can even put that pressure on myself, like, “Oh my god, is my name going to live on after I die?” I think for me, my legacy has become my son. And it’s a bonus if one of my songs gets played long after I’m dead. I kind of, almost in a sarcastic way with my husband, we joke about us being has-beens someday and just the idea of this star not being as bright and how we’ll still have each other through it, even if we never get another number one or we can’t tour forever. It’d be funny if our songs outlived us, and that hit me in a really romantic way, even though it’s kind of depressing. (Laughs) I think it’s more romantic to me than devoting eternity to someone, is these old country songs living beyond us.
Definitely morbid, but also romantic.
That’s life, isn’t it?! It’s morbid and funny and beautiful.
You’re nominated for two Grammys this year. What value do awards like the Grammys hold for you?
I definitely don’t think about the awards shows anymore. I think this is the first album where I’m really going into it not worried about that being the last bastion of success, as much as I respect the Grammys. And you know, I went to Grammy camp when I was 14; they’ve been a part of my musical journey for so long, and I’ve won one, and it’s such an honor to get to play there. I don’t do it for that, and I don’t think my fans truly care. But I think what’s cool about that particular show is that it’s so hard to become a voter because you have to be a musician, an artist. It’s not political in the way that you’re a label head and you’re a voter—you have to be someone that has created music. So I love that they’re pretty strict about that process because it means if you’re nominated or if you win, it was by your actual music community and your peers.
And then the show itself, we’re going in a couple weeks to Vegas for it, and it’s kind of the first Grammys I’m going to where I don’t have to work. I’m just going as a nominee and I can just hang with my husband because we’re both up for the same category. It’s going to be fun. It really is the top of everyone’s game that you’re getting to watch there, and I love that it’s every genre and the best of the best. So it does feel important. It’s not the end-all, be-all of your worth as a creator, but it’s definitely a really sweet bonus when your peers, out of all the music that year, think that you did something cool.
Speaking of awards shows, after the ACM Awards last week, some people thought you dissed Morgan Wallen because it looked like you didn’t applaud him as he walked to the stage to accept his award. Is there any truth to that?
I mean, I did applaud, it was just not on camera. And no, I would never intentionally be an asshole to somebody that’s musically gifted. But no, I did not stand up. But I will say, I was not turning my back to anybody on purpose. I had just gotten seated with my husband because I had just performed earlier in the show. Anyone on Twitter will find something dramatic to glom onto me about, and it’s so uninvited because I was literally just seated. I didn’t even hear the category or who won. I was talking to my friends from Midland who were behind me right as the camera was on me. So no, there’s no ill will or intentional shit. It’s just people online who think a lot more about me than I do about them.
In general, you’re known as an outspoken artist in the country music world, which I know opens you up to a lot of criticism. Are there any times you’ve regretted speaking up about something?
I mean, if I truly think about it, no. Because I stand by everything I’ve said and I still, to this day and forever, will believe in where my heart was when I said what I’ve said. But I will say, I don’t know if Twitter is always the best forum for instant thoughts. So I’ve just learned, in some ways from backlash, like, oh, maybe I’ll put this in a song or maybe I’ll really think about this and say it in an interview and not in 180 characters. So no, I don’t apologize for anything I’ve said. I’m standing up for what’s right and I know my heart is in the right place, and that’s that.
At least Twitter can sometimes be useful, like when you’re trying to come up with a name for your tennis team.
The Volley Partons! Our game is tomorrow. I’ll let Twitter know how it goes.
It’s a great name, and I know you love Dolly Parton. How did you feel when she recently said she wanted to recuse herself from the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame nominations? Did you hear about that?
I truly didn’t even know that the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame voted on who wins the induction. I thought all the people they nominate become inductees. So that just goes to show how little I know about the actual process. But I mean, she’s just so classy and she is the definition of humble, even though she literally has a theme park. I think that she doesn’t want to be compared to other women that she highly respects. Because it is such a weird thing to be going against other people that have worked just as hard.
I think just taking her name out of the conversation or the running is so admirable and it allows for the other people who were nominated to get their flowers. I just think she’s amazing and, you know, she’s Dolly Parton. She’s won everything you can win, achieved everything you can achieve. At the end of the day, she just has the utmost respect for music and she can do whatever she wants. But I know she mentioned she was inspired to go make a rock album after the nomination, and I hope she does. I would love to hear that.
Oh, me too. Speaking of rock music, I have to ask you about “Nervous.” I think there are songs on this album that show how much you’ve grown as a writer, but then there are ones like “Nervous” where you really get to fucking wail. It sounds like maybe you pushed yourself as a vocalist on this album as much as you did as a songwriter.
Yeah, I think vocally on “Nervous” and “Background Music,” I really went to another place that I didn’t know existed yet in my own vocal. With “Nervous,” I felt like I got to take the training wheels off and just let it rip. I wasn’t worried about these perfect vocals on this record, and I weirdly found an even deeper sense of love for my voice. I feel the most mature vocally right now, and like I’ve really come into my sweet spot. With songs like that, I’m just trying not to be as rigid or perfect anymore, and it’s created something more nuanced and interesting. With the last chorus of “Background Music” and with “Nervous,” I just take the bumpers off.
It reminded me of one of my favorite songs from your first album, “Once.” You really get to belt on that one, too.
It’s sort of like, with that one too, “Oh shit, where’s she been?!” But that’s what’s fascinating. Maybe it’s emotions or life experiences that allowed my voice to be the tool to take it in a different octave, even. It’s kind of the only form of magic. I’m not very religious, but I feel like when I’m singing is the only time I feel spiritual.
With this album especially, and with working with people like Greg Kurstin and Julia Michaels and Sarah Aarons [who co-wrote her hit crossover collaboration with Zedd, “The Middle”], it seems like you’ve found a comfortable space between pop and country. Do you feel like you’ve found your niche, genre-wise? Is that something you even think about?
Yeah, and I think what’s great about Julia and Greg and Sarah is they’re coming in to find what I want to say, and not the other way around. Like, I’m not trying to work with Greg to make what sounds like an Adele record, or any of his previous work, because he’s so great at coming in and molding his magic around whatever artist he’s in the room with. I don’t think about genre stuff ever, unless I have to pick a single, like, “Will this work at country radio?” But during the creative process I never let that seep into my brain because I’m just trying to get the best song that day, not, “Oh my god, does this need a banjo on it?” (Laughs) I don’t think about it until the label has to think about it. But luckily they’ve allowed me to carve my place out. And I feel like I’ve helped move the sound, hopefully, forward in country music, to not just be one kind of voice or perspective or sound. It’s always going to be me at the end of the day. I’m at my most comfortable in country music and in Nashville, but it’s always going to be a little different. And I’m cool with that.
