WHEN IT COMES TO COUNTRY MUSIC (I Sometimes Wish it Was the 1990s)

There was something in the air during the 1990s—some strange, awesome, illogical groove in country music that defies tidy explanation. It was raw, honest, steel-stringed, and steady as an old heartbeat. And in my mind it was just as good as anything that ever came before it.

That sound, I fear, has mostly vanished from the modern airwaves, but it shaped some of my most formative years. Songs like “Yard Sale” by Sammy Kershaw, “Learning to Live Without You” by Ken Mellons, “This One’s Gonna Hurt You” by Travis Tritt and Marty Stuart, “Some Girls Do” by Sawyer Brown, and “Lillie’s White Lies” by Martin Del Rey carried grit, sorrow, sometimes humor, and truth in equal measure—songs that reached down into the marrow of life and left their mark. This stuff sounded real because it was real. I love 90’s country.

And yet, time moves on, and so do sounds. Things have changed in Music City and melodies are sometimes more sugar than steel, more shimmer than substance. Even so, the human heart hasn’t changed at all—it still bleeds, still aches, still hopes, still longs for something real beneath the noise. Modern country may not hit the same groove for me, and I might grimace at the shift in tone and message, but deep down I recognize that the struggles, the heartbreak, the joy, and the need for grace remain unchanged. The music has changed, but the need for truth has not.

In this, I see a lesson for ministry and for life: the gospel doesn’t need to sound the same to reach hearts. Just as music adapts, just as styles change, the Word of God can be preached in ways I might not prefer, through voices I might not choose, through methods I might not expect. And yet, beneath every rhythm, beneath every lyric, there is still a soul crying for hope, still a heart longing for forgiveness, still a life waiting for Jesus. Whether it’s a 90s country ballad or a modern pop-infused song, God can use it to minister, to comfort, and to awaken.

So I can chuckle at the new sounds, and sigh for the old, and still rejoice that His work never stops. God finds a way to reach us in the music, in the moments, in the melodies, even when my taste or expectations do not align. And perhaps that is the best lesson of all: that truth, grace, and the gospel itself are never constrained by style, tempo, or generation—they flow freely to the hearts prepared to hear them, just as they always have. Even if they come from sounds and lyrics with which I personally do not identify. My comfort does not matter. The cause of Christ does.

BDD