Right before kicking into her fourth song “The Tree” last Saturday night, Maren Morris opened up to a gleeful, yet empathetic crowd at downtown St. Petersburg’s Mahaffey Theater.
“A lot in my life has shifted and changed, for the better,” she admitted. “You can’t just like, slumber your way through the hard shit. You just have to, unfortunately, go right into the brick wall.”
Along with her recent divorce from fellow country artist Ryan Hurd, Morris recently decided to step away from certain aspects of country music, in the wake of a seemingly stronger-than-ever presence of racism, transphobia, and hatred in the genre. Yes, there are still plenty of country artists that share her values (read: Chris Stapleton, Zach Bryan, Miranda Lambert, etc.). But as the Aldeans and Morgan Wallens opened up their mouths and gained a plethora of positive traction for it, Morris found it harder and harder to fathom “I Could Use A Love Song” being classified under the same genre as “Try That In A Small Town.”
It must not have taken her too long to come to grips with re-establishing herself, because on her current “RSVP Redux” tour, not only is Morris more present and alive with her not-quite-country-but-not-quite-Americana sound, but she’s the girlboss that her peers wish they could be in 2024.
Sure, her six-piece band’s minute-long overture that led into “RSVP” at the strike of 9 p.m. may have felt like overkill, but the second Morris entered from behind a cloud-like backdrop—while rocking a shiny, black crop tank top—some began wondering what this show was doing somewhere that wasn’t a scorching hot amphitheater.
Think about it: Mid-August is still considered the dead of summer, when all the country tours seem to be taking place. Morris also stood below a simplistic, yet elaborate lighting rig, and whether you’re clinging onto her country side or not, there’s nothing like pouring the sweat out of your boots in the ol’ Gary’s grass parking lot at the end of the night.
She was given a tan Gibson for the conversational “Girl,” which jumps around from Morris’ perspective of hating her own reactions to the successes of those around her, and then, over to someone perceived as an older figure telling her to just walk it off. It’s more of an anthem for not letting a bad week control your life, rather than one for those who struggle with mental health issues on the daily.
On “Rich,” she sang the second verse directly at guitarist Bennett Dean Lewis, there wasn’t a voice in the room that didn’t know the bridge, and—in true Kesha form—Morris is no longer drippin’ diamonds with Diddy, as she has given that position to “daddy” instead. Her first-ever single, “My Church,” paired a silhouetting light show with a larger-than-life, organ-anchored introduction as a kickoff to the Grammy-winning, music-is-my-religion declaration.
And Graham Nash once said that he finds it eery how so many of his songs very well could have been written yesterday. “I’m the traitor, I’m the cause/I’m the breaker of your heart, I ain’t saying what you want,” Morris sang, almost certainly thinking of the “go woke, go broke” crowd that has left her in the dirt. “When it’s all said and done/Don’t forget that you loved me once.”
Yes, the sing-alongs were in there, too. The upbeat “The Middle” started with an “alright, gays,” and the ultra-confident “80s Mercedes,” serving as the all-too-short set’s closer, caused a few fans to actually dance out to the lobby. But this tour’s underlying theme relates to a rebirth on Morris’ end, so in a show about a new you, the newer the material is, the more likely it is to make the setlist.
After nailing T.J. Osborne’s part of “All My Favorite People,” Morris began to plug Intermission, a five-track EP described as an “appetizer for the [next] album.” It’s the poppiest work she’s ever put out, and seemingly everyone in the room was totally invested, opting not to hit the can during that portion of the 78-minute show.
“I’m so proud of these songs. They were not easy to write, but I couldn’t have written them if I hadn’t gone through some shit,” she chuckled. “I’ve been wanting to put these songs out for the better part of a year, and I promise there’s more to come.”
Once she announced that she’d be playing the entire EP, “I Hope I Never Fall In Love” (stylized in all lowercase) started with the aptly-added same opening beat as The Ronettes’ “Be My Baby,” and she lamented how sick of being screwed over by love she was. “This Is How A Woman Leaves” (also stylized in all lowercase) was described as one of the most difficult, yet honest songs Morris gets to perform.
“One of the hardest things to do is to walk away from something that’s not bad, it’s not horrible, it’s just no longer bringing anything into your life,” she added, dedicating her utterly uncharacterized track to fans who are going through just that.
Morris demanded a dance party on “Push Me Over,” and in a set that includes “Girl,” “Cut!” served as the more understanding, self-care-advocating track that depicts how she makes time for crying sessions in between an endlessly hectic schedule that includes meditation, yoga, and putting on a hell of a show.
And it seems that this new era for Morris is very similar to what Taylor Swift encountered when 1989 first released 10 years ago. Sure, she didn’t leave country music for the same reasons as Morris, but what she wanted was a new soundtrack, a new adventure, and the chance to be a new girlie. And considering how so many “Eras” tour attendees have been unconditional Swifties since day one, it’s anyone’s guess how many at last Saturday night’s shindig have been with Morris since before The Highwomen (her supergroup with Amanda Shires, Brandi Carlile, and Natalie Hemby) came around.
In short, you can’t help but hold out just a little bit of hope for country music. You know, for Willie, Johnny, and Hank’s sake. But in the meantime, this is how a woman leaves.
