ella langley

For John and TJ Osborne, work and family have long been intertwined.

Today the siblings are known to country music fans as Brothers Osborne, the rock-leaning twosome that’s put 13 songs on Billboard’s Country Airplay chart and been named vocal duo of the year half a dozen times at the annual CMA Awards. Before they moved to Nashville, though, the brothers grew up helping out with their dad’s plumbing business in the late 1990s in the small fishing town of Deale, Md.

“You know how every country star opens a bar in Nashville?” John asks. “I was thinking it’d be funny to start a Brothers Osborne plumbing company that services all the bars.”

With TJ on lead vocals and John on lead guitar, the brothers look back at those early days in Deale on their nostalgic new album, “Watertown,” which came out last week, 10 years after the release of their first LP. It’s got handsome, well-drawn songs about long-lost loves and teenage indiscretions, not to mention one tune about some of the colorful Osbornes who don’t play in the band.

“We got a mama that you wouldn’t want to take home to mama,” TJ sings in “Family Business,” which rhymes that line with “Got a daddy with a girlfriend who loves marijuana” and “Sister took a swing at her first boy’s father.”

“I always tell people that TJ and I are the most boring people in our family,” John says. “Our sister really did punch her ex-husband in the face.”

TJ, 41, calls the album a tribute to the people who shaped him and his brother, who’s 44. “When you’re a kid, you want to run away from home and spread your wings,” the singer says. “Then at some point, it’s like that place is almost calling you back.”

That the Osbornes are at an age to memorialize the old days puts them on the outskirts, to some extent, of a country scene crowded with ascendant zoomers like Ella Langley, Tucker Wetmore and Megan Moroney. Yet the brothers are hardly fuddy-duddys: In 2021, TJ became the first country artist signed to a major label to come out as gay; musically, he and John consistently make unexpected stylistic choices — take the ringing new wave guitars in “Family Business” — even as they court down-the-middle success, as with the new album’s lead single, “Born and Raised Hell,” which features the country radio kingpin Cody Johnson.

“John and TJ don’t make corporate country music,” says Ashley McBryde, who’s collaborated repeatedly with the brothers. McBryde calls John “a guitar god” and says TJ’s deep voice “could make your kneecaps come unglued”; she adds that she likes to listen to their records “while I’m doing yard work, slinging a chainsaw.”

“Our mission the whole time has been: How do we thread the needle of doing something that’s a little left of center while making it commercial enough that people can hear it?” TJ says over coffee at an outdoor cafe in Griffith Park. The Osbornes are in town on a recent afternoon between tour dates; last night they did dinner at Nobu in West Hollywood — “bougie as f—,” John acknowledges — then “climbed up the La Cienega mountain,” as the guitarist puts it, back to their hotel on Sunset.

“The last 50 yards, I felt like I was gonna puke,” John says.

Does Nashville have good sushi?

“They do now,” John replies. “Back in the day, there was just this place Ken’s — kind of a hole in the wall where you’d get these huge styrofoam containers of rolls. It was really cheap, and we’d all get really stoned and eat tons of sushi.”

The brothers learned to play from their dad in Maryland in a family roots-music combo called Deuce and a Quarter; each went to Nashville to do his own thing but didn’t really gain any traction until they teamed up — a union they say their mother envisioned from the jump.

“I think the second TJ was born, she thought to herself: I have a country band on my hands,” John says. “She’s very — what’s the word I want to use? — goal-driven, in a good way. So when we finally joined forces and things started taking off, there was a bit of ‘I told you so’ about it.” He laughs. “In her defense, she was right.” (The brothers’ sister Natalie also works in Nashville as an A&R exec at the indie label Leo33, where she signed Zach Top.)

Brothers Osborne — nominated again for vocal duo of the year at next month’s CMAs ceremony — came up in a tightknit peer group that also included McBryde, Maren Morris and Kacey Musgraves. The duo broke out with a No. 1 showing for “Stay a Little Longer,” a single from their platinum 2016 debut; since then they’ve scored hits with tunes with like “21 Summer,” “Nobody’s Nobody” and “Burning Man,” the last a collab with Dierks Bentley that also went to No. 1.

Asked why they’ve been embraced by the traditional Nashville biz in a way that’s sometimes eluded Musgraves, TJ shakes his head. “There’s so many Kacey songs that I’m just like, How was this not a huge hit for her?” he says. “There is a game you have to play with country radio — doing things for them that we were willing to do that I know Kacey was just like, ‘No thanks.’”

Why does he reckon he and his brother were willing to jump through the hoops?

“I mean, we knew it would help,” he says. “We grew up in a poor family where everyone worked their asses off just to get by paycheck to paycheck. So I think for us it was about the fact that we’re gonna put in the work and get noticed.”

“You have to be willing to compromise — not your art or your dignity but compromise your time,” John says, “in the hopes that you can pursue a career in music because it’s very competitive.”

Over the past few years, some of Nashville’s biggest hits have come from outsiders like Post Malone experimenting with country music. Speaking broadly, TJ says the trendiness of the genre “is a little annoying because people are like, ‘I hate all country music,’ until their career flounders and suddenly they do a country record. Some of these people, they don’t know anything about it.

“At the same time, the genre is the biggest it’s ever been, which probably set the stage for a song like ‘Choosin’ Texas’ to be the song that it was,” he adds of Langley’s pedal-steel-soaked mega-smash, which just logged its 25th week atop Billboard’s Hot 100 — longer than any other song in chart history.

“I was just up in Brooklyn at a gay bar, and I’m like, All the gays are singing along — what the f—?” TJ says. “Also very jealous of that. I want a song all the gays are singing.”

Five years after he came out in a widely publicized Time magazine story, TJ says he doesn’t think much about his position as one of the few openly gay men in country music. As we keep talking, though, some things seem to come to mind.

“There was a moment recently with all the equity and inclusion stuff where [my identity] started to feel political — that was weird,” he says. “It felt like picking sides, even though I’m like, This is just my sexuality. But I feel like we’re kind of getting back out of that a bit.”

Then again, TJ recalls his appearance at May’s ACM Awards, where he presented Langley with the prize for female artist of the year. “I made a joke about my gay ass being up here giving this award, and there were comments from people being like, ‘I don’t understand why you have to talk about it,’” he says. “It’s like, F—, maybe people aren’t as open to it as I thought. It was proof to me that there’s still a lot of ground to cover.”

Is TJ up for doing the work of opening minds?

“I am. And I think it’s important work because there’s so many different types of gay people. There’s also so many different types of rural Americans. We’ll go to some places, and there are people who I perceive to maybe have some sort of bigotry towards me but I read them wrong and they’re actually totally cool.

“Look, you’re not gonna be able to convince everybody,” he adds. “There’s people that just hate on people for the stupidest reasons. Girls have it the worst. Anytime a girl does anything — ‘She looks like a slut,’ ‘She’s fat,’ ‘She’s too skinny.’ There’s just some mean people out there.”

“We’ve heard it all,” John says.

“There was this amazing burn we got one time where we’d taken ‘21 Summer’ out of the set,” TJ says, “and someone commented, ‘I can’t believe Brothers Osborne played 21 guitar solos but not ‘21 Summer.’” He laughs. “See, at least that’s pretty clever.”

Tribute specials are always a bit macabre. They exist, and are sometimes quickly thrown together, to honor and celebrate an artist who impacted so many. They are also ratings and advertising cash grabs that air on major TV and streaming platforms.

“CMA Presents I Will Always Love You: A Celebration of Dolly Parton,” which aired Wednesday on ABC and Disney+, was a lovely tribute to the music and cultural icon who died from cancer in August. It also was a missed opportunity. As music superstar Vince Gill said toward the end of the two-hour program, “this is not a memorial; but a celebration of an undeniable force of nature. Dolly was somebody that everyone loved: City, country, young, old.”

But most likely because the event was put on by the Country Music Assn. — which naturally wanted to showcase its own talent — it lacked a chance to really celebrate that she and her music could not be contained by one genre.

This isn’t just ironic because Parton’s most-known song — a song that was both the title of the special and the end performance of it — was made all the more famous by Whitney Houston, another iconic performer and also one who happens to have been a woman a color and who did not have any other direct ties to the Nashville scene. Dolly herself, famously, appreciated so many other kinds of music. After her passing, Eminem shared on social media a letter she’d written to him to congratulate him on his 2022 induction to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.

“She definitely didn’t have to take the time to do it,” he said as part of the post. “Even for a kid who mostly listened to rap music, she was an icon. A superstar in every sense.”

That said, from Reba McEntire opening the show with stories of just how kind her friend was in real life to a pre-recorded tribute from Bono where his Irish accent briefly attempts to slip into a Southern one while emulating her conversations with him, there were some touching and memorable moments. We’ve rounded up five of them here:

Reba McEntire, “He’s Alive”

Technically, the song is meant to be the apostle Peter singing about Jesus Christ’s resurrection. But McEntire’s take on Parton’s take of the Don Francisco gospel brought in the very modern-day sense of fear that so many parents and partners feel when their loved ones go out to dangerous jobs or even just leave the house for school or concerts.

Carrie Underwood, “I Will Always Love You”

There’s no denying that this is a perfect song and that Underwood is a once-in-a-lifetime voice. And credit must be due to Underwood for pulling off an undertaking where any little slip would be pounced on by critics. But staging her to stand in front of one of the many animatronic butterflies that lined the stage in such a way that it looked like she had angel wings was … a choice.

Carly Pearce and Kristin Chenoweth, “9 to 5”

Both of these women, especially Tony winner Chenoweth, are masters of stage presence. Their banter with each other before singing, not to mention their duet itself, embraced the liveliness and feminine feminist-ness of that song.

Ella Langley, “Jolene”

This was not the most powerful performance of the night, as Langley seemed happier to dance on the stage than belt out the music. And it didn’t boil with the grief and seething rage of a scorned woman the way that Beyonce’s 2024 cover did. But it was nice to see a symbolic baton be passed to the “Choosin’ Texas” singer.

Zac Brown, “Butterfly”

Brown’s backstory of writing, and then recording, what would become his 2025 duet with Parton came off as sweet and genuine. It also helped it not feel awkward or gratuitous when he and the producers opted not to recast the Parton half of the song and instead let her voice carry through the speakers.

Halfway through her very sold-out concert Tuesday night at the Greek Theatre, Ella Langley pulled up a stool near the front of the stage and told us she wanted to “be kind of normal for a second, if that’s all right witcha.”

Life has been pretty un-normal lately for the 27-year-old country singer from small-town Alabama, whose smash “Choosin’ Texas” set a new record last month for the longest stay of all time atop Billboard’s Hot 100. The chart achievement only bolstered talk that Langley is due to clean up when Grammy Award nominations are announced next month — welcome chatter, no doubt, for a striver who grew up, as she said at the Greek, determined to get exactly where she’s gotten.

Yet Langley’s success has brought with it some darkness, including accusations from armchair experts on social media that “Choosin’ Texas” — a monster hit that people keep saying they’ve never heard — owes its impressive stats to an act of record-biz chicanery. More ominously, Langley called off a concert in Oklahoma last week due to what she called a “serious security threat.”

Then former Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem got involved in Langley’s business when she tried in a tweet to pit the singer against Kacey Musgraves after Musgraves hosted the Senate hopeful James Talarico at a show in Dallas. (Langley, who’s been circumspect about voicing her political opinions, appeared to un-tag herself from Noem’s post, which is objectively hilarious.)

So you could empathize with Langley — empathize more than with other country singers longing for the good ol’ days — as she straightened up on that stool to do “Somethin’ Simple,” a winsome ditty from this year’s double-platinum “Dandelion” LP. “While I’m living the dream,” she sang, “all I’m dreaming about is slowing down just a little.”

This acoustic section of Tuesday’s gig, the first of two at the Greek, was by far the best part of the night; Langley also brought out her two openers for a pair of stripped-down duets in “Dreams,” the deathless Fleetwood Mac classic, which she sang with Laci Kaye Booth, and “Strangers,” her soulful power ballad with Kameron Marlowe, who gladly disregarded that unspoken rule about not showing up the headliner who hired you.

Loose, chatty, surrounded by friends and bandmates, Langley here was just a musician playing music; I can’t say whether she attained the normalcy she said she was looking for, though I’d buy that this is more or less what she gets up to on the back porch she sings about missing in “Somethin’ Simple.”

The problem with the rest of the concert — the parts with the lights and the videos and the goofy stage business involving a guy with a keytar and a cigarette — was that it demanded a level of star power that Langley simply doesn’t possess (or anyway isn’t interested in deploying).

On record, she summons a coolly detached quality that plays intriguingly against arrangements lush with romantic pedal steel; there’s something hard to pin down about the emotion of tunes like “Be Her” and “Choosin’ Texas,” in which the narrator sounds almost alienated from her own heartbreak.

If somebody wants to make a case that Langley’s beautifully dead-eyed love songs represent the purest embodiment of Gen Z’s post-pandemic social dysfunction — well, I’m all ears. (Great look too: very Linda Ronstadt meets Stevie Nicks.)

But onstage the lack of affect just felt flat, not least when she’d dole out the kind of canned banter between songs that would make anyone resent the mechanics of stardom. The performance posed an interesting question: How much (or how little) charisma is required to support a branding infrastructure as robust as Langley’s? At the Greek there were ads for her jeans and her sunglasses and her energy drink, and there were more merch stands than I’ve ever seen at the venue. Every one of them was jammed.