108 Time February 15/February 22, 2021
TimeOff Opener
MUSIC
A country star charts
his own course
By Sam Lansky
P
eople keep asking T.J. osborne how he’s
feeling, which makes sense, given the thing he’s
about to do, but it’s making him uneasy, hearing
that question over and over again from so many
people—his friends, family and even me. Now, at a photo
shoot in Nashville, he insists that he’s feeling good. “I’m
ready to put this behind me,” he says, slipping on a jacket.
T.J. is tall and friendly, with a twangy, sonorous voice
that often crests into deep, warm laughter. He’s the lead
vocalist of Brothers Osborne, the duo he formed in 2012
with his brother John, a guitarist; together they make soul-
ful country- rock that sounds just as good on the radio as it
would filling an arena. Since signing to EMI Records Nash-
ville, they’ve released seven singles and three studio al-
bums, including their swoony, rollicking platinum hit “Stay
a Little Longer,” which has crossed over to mainstream
radio. (Have you ever fallen in love in late summer, gazing
out at an orange-and-purple sunset from the bed of a pickup
truck? Well, me neither, but this song will make you feel like
you have!) The duo has won four CMA Awards, been nomi-
nated for seven Grammys, and collaborated with country
contemporaries such as Dierks Bentley and Maren Morris.
What may come as a surprise to the band’s fans is the
news that T.J., 36, is gay. This isn’t a recent revelation for
him; he’s known since he was a kid, and he’s been out to
family and friends in his tight-knit Nashville community
for years. In some respects, he says, coming out publicly is
no big deal. “I find myself being guarded for not wanting to
talk about something that I personally don’t have a problem
with,” he says later. “That feels so strange.”
But country music has long been one of the last bastions
of mainstream conservatism in America; liberal Hollywood
might be notorious for pushing a progressive agenda, but
country continues to provide a safe space for “family val-
ues.” Never mind that many country artists, like Nashville
as a city, lean blue: they’re savvy enough to know that their
primary market, like the state of Tennessee itself, is red. The
country-music business generates $5.5 billion to Nashville’s
economy, according to RIAA, and there’s a history of art-
ists getting exiled for refusing to toe the line: the tale of the
Chicks, who were shunned by the industry after speaking
out against the Iraq War, had a chilling effect on superstars
like Taylor Swift, who cited the band’s ouster as a reason she
remained publicly apolitical for so long.
With this news, T.J. becomes the first openly gay artist
signed to a major country label—a historic moment for the
genre. Openly queer artists, from Grammy- winning singer-
songwriter Brandi Carlile to viral hitmaker Lil Nas X, have
found success by integrating country influences, and less
widely known queer country singers like Chely Wright and
Billy Gilman have developed fan followings. But T.J. may
be the first to come out with his feet so
firmly planted in both the sound and ma-
chinery of mainstream country.
What happens next remains to be
seen. “I don’t think I’m going to get run
off the stage in Chicago,” he says. “But
in a rural town playing a county fair? I’m
curious how this will go.” The profes-
sional risks he’s taking in coming out feel
worth it; country music is about story-
telling, and that means T.J.’s identity
is inextricable from his music. Maybe,
he says, country isn’t the most popular
genre among gay people. “But is that just
because they’ve never had the opportu-
nity to relate to it?”GrowinG up in Deale, MD., a blue
collar town on the Chesapeake Bay, T.J.
and his siblings were always musical,△
T.J., right, with his
brother John, left,
performing during
a 2019 NFL game
in Detroit