Right from the opening track, the Atlanta native makes a statement, and that statement is queer artists should not have to hide from the lustful lyricism that their heterosexual contemporaries so indulgently use.Īt some points, it’s bold and boastful - at others, tender and vulnerable. Perhaps that’s his greatest trick yet.Colored with lively guitar licks and Kanye-influenced horn samples, Montero showcases Lil Nas X’s tendency to explore versatile instrumental timbres that make his sound unique. After all, the catchier the song, the more difficult it will be for the haters to avoid Lil Nas X in all his glorious, kaleidoscopic humanity. The underlying universality of its sentiments and sounds ultimately work in the album’s favor, effectively smuggling a Black queer perspective into places where it was once absent or even actively resisted. The second half of “Montero” is surprisingly downcast, and not all of its offerings are as searing or memorable as “Dead Right Now.” But even when they bleed into one another, these songs successfully assert that Nas is much more than just a meme-maker, conjuring a more vivid picture of his inner world and musical sensibility than anything he’s released before.Īs on any deeply felt record made by a young 20-something, “Montero” ricochets from cravings of momentary lust to earnest pleas for a more lasting love. “Dead Right Now” is just as infectious but cuts even deeper, tackling suicidal thoughts, unsupportive family members and the sudden burdens of fame: “My mama told me that she love me, don’t believe her/When she get drunk, she hit me up, man, with a fever.” On one of the album’s best songs, “Scoop,” Nas finds a kindred spirit in fellow meme-hound-turned-pop-star Doja Cat: Their expressive voices adapt so well to the effervescent beat that it sounds like the theme song to their own cartoon. But even as “Old Town Road” thrust its maker squarely into the spotlight, it was not yet clear if Lil Nas X (born Montero Lamar Hill) was a next-big-thing musician or simply a winking wizard of virality. By the end of its record-breaking, 19-week run atop the Billboard Hot 100 that August, “Old Town Road” had become much more than a pop song: It also functioned as an indictment of racism in country music, an opportunity for intergenerational unity between pop stars and a referendum on whether people who spent too much time on the internet could still experience anything resembling uncomplicated delight. That meme he’s referencing is, of course, “Old Town Road,” Lil Nas X’s world-conquering 2019 smash. “You’s a meme, you’s a joke, been a gimmick from the go,” Lil Nas X taunts himself on the tortured “One of Me,” embodying the voices of his most vicious critics with such gusto that they sound indistinguishable from the demons in his own head. On social media - his own personal amusement park - his deft retorts to purer-than-thou pearl-clutchers and homophobic haters seem so effortless, they prompt a modern philosophical question: What’s the sound of one hand clapping back?īut on his tuneful, introspective debut album, “Montero,” that glitzy public armor falls to reveal vulnerability and doubt.
Red carpets and awards show stages have lately become international showcases for his impishly androgynous imagination. Lil Nas X, the gleefully queer 22-year-old pop star and savvy digital trickster, often cuts an impossibly confident figure in public.