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Hamilton Spectator
12-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Hamilton Spectator
April Hubbard delayed MAID to accept Governor General's honour: ‘Most artists never get a recognition like this in their lifetime'
April Hubbard changed the plan for her death so she could be there to celebrate her life's work at one of Canada's most prestigious arts ceremonies. The 40-year-old arts administrator and performer had pre-recorded her acceptance speech for the Governor General's Performing Arts Awards because she had expected to receive medical assistance in dying before Saturday's gala. 'It's only in the last few weeks that I said, well, maybe I can make it. Can we consider this and make it happen?' she said in a video call from her home in Halifax. 'It's a very strange experience to go back and rewrite an acceptance speech that you didn't think you'd be alive to see.' Hubbard has qualified for MAID because she has tethered cord syndrome, a degenerative disorder of the nervous system resulting from a condition she was born with, spina bifida. While the condition isn't fatal, it causes tissue to attach to the spine, restricting movement and causing severe chronic pain. The condition cut short her acting career at age 17, when she started using a wheelchair. She'd fallen in love with the theatre three years earlier after her mother voluntold her to serve as a script prompter for a community theatre production of 'Drinking Alone.' Throughout high school, she acted, stage managed and did everything she could to be in the theatre. But once she started using a wheelchair, she said she got the message that there was no longer a place for her on stage. 'Every opportunity I had in the arts in Nova Scotia to be on stage dried up when I became visibly disabled,' she said. 'At that point, I had to switch to arts administration just as a way of still being involved in some way and find a way to still have my soul fed by the arts,' she said. 'That was the only place that there was room for me: behind the scenes where I wasn't visible.' In those behind-the-scenes roles, she's fought to make Halifax's theatre scene more accessible to disabled audiences and performers alike. 'When I did get a little foot in the door in any organization, it was the drive to bring others with me who were still not being heard and still not getting through the space,' she said. '(I was) always thinking about, 'OK, I wasn't let into this space, but next year, if I'm here, who will I be welcoming in?'' Hubbard started volunteering at the Halifax Fringe Festival in 2003, and eventually became its chair. Over the years she was involved with the festival, the organization committed to only using venues that were fully accessible, and trained volunteers to be sighted guides to people who are blind or low-vision. She was also consulted when the Bus Stop Theatre co-op bought a building. They brought her on to make sure the space was accessible for both audiences and performers. At the beginning of her advocacy, she said, she was one of the only voices in the room. That's changed over time, as she's found others doing similar work. Those people have made it possible for her to rest when she needs to, she said, 'knowing there's other people out there who will still advocate as well.' Hubbard was also able to return to performance. It started in 2019, when the founders of LEGacy Circus reached out to her. They were training instructors on how to work with performers with atypical bodies and they asked Hubbard for help, she said. As soon as she touched the trapeze, she fell in love. Hubbard and her circus partner Vanessa Furlong started to work together, and soon she was performing publicly for the first time as an adult. She approached her art with thoughtfulness, in contrast to her teenage self taking whatever role came her way. 'In my circus practice, I'd make a really big part of it showing my body fully and not hiding its differences,' she said. She wanted the audience to think about how her being on stage was different from an able-bodied performer — and why it was so uncommon to see. 'It felt very much like returning home,' she said. 'And I didn't realize until I got back onstage just how much I had kind of quieted a part of my soul.' When COVID-19 hit, she didn't want to give that up. She'd been so accepted in the world of circus that she looked for another space that was welcoming to 'outsiders.' She'd done ticketing for drag shows in Halifax for years, so she was very familiar with the local scene and had long thought about becoming a drag artist herself. But at the time, she wasn't able to get onto most of the stages because of her wheelchair. So during the pandemic, when everyone was cooped up inside and drag artists started performing virtually, Hubbard developed her drag persona, Crip Tease. 'It was really amazing to get to do, to be creative at a time that everybody had those same limitations, everybody had to think about 'how am I going to make my art happen?' And it kind of evened the playing field in a lot of ways for me as a disabled artist,' she said. But since then, Hubbard's health has deteriorated. Her pain has worsened, and she's no longer able to perform. That pain led her to pursue a medically assisted death in 2023, and she qualified under Track 2, which is for people whose condition is grievous and irremediable but whose death is not imminent. That's given her some flexibility. She doesn't have a date set, she said, though she still plans to die later this year. Extending her life also means extending her pain, which she describes as a constant burning and pulling sensation. When it's at its worst, she said, it feels like her legs are being sent through a meat grinder. She's been resting up for the last several weeks to be able to make the journey to Ottawa, where she'll accept the Ramon John Hnatyshyn Award for Voluntarism in the Performing Arts in person. Others honourees include musician Jeremy Dutcher, music producer Bob Ezrin and Oscar-nominated actor Graham Greene. 'I'm very aware of the fact that most artists never get a recognition like this in their lifetime,' Hubbard said. 'They never get to experience the joy of hearing how much people appreciate them and their work. And those things are usually only said after somebody has already passed. So it feels like a real blessing to get to hear all that and to be here to experience all of those moments.' This report by The Canadian Press was first published June 12, 2025.
Winnipeg Free Press
12-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Winnipeg Free Press
April Hubbard delayed MAID to accept Governor General's honour: ‘Most artists never get a recognition like this in their lifetime'
April Hubbard changed the plan for her death so she could be there to celebrate her life's work at one of Canada's most prestigious arts ceremonies. The 40-year-old arts administrator and performer had pre-recorded her acceptance speech for the Governor General's Performing Arts Awards because she had expected to receive medical assistance in dying before Saturday's gala. 'It's only in the last few weeks that I said, well, maybe I can make it. Can we consider this and make it happen?' she said in a video call from her home in Halifax. 'It's a very strange experience to go back and rewrite an acceptance speech that you didn't think you'd be alive to see.' Hubbard has qualified for MAID because she has tethered cord syndrome, a degenerative disorder of the nervous system resulting from a condition she was born with, spina bifida. While the condition isn't fatal, it causes tissue to attach to the spine, restricting movement and causing severe chronic pain. The condition cut short her acting career at age 17, when she started using a wheelchair. She'd fallen in love with the theatre three years earlier after her mother voluntold her to serve as a script prompter for a community theatre production of 'Drinking Alone.' Throughout high school, she acted, stage managed and did everything she could to be in the theatre. But once she started using a wheelchair, she said she got the message that there was no longer a place for her on stage. 'Every opportunity I had in the arts in Nova Scotia to be on stage dried up when I became visibly disabled,' she said. 'At that point, I had to switch to arts administration just as a way of still being involved in some way and find a way to still have my soul fed by the arts,' she said. 'That was the only place that there was room for me: behind the scenes where I wasn't visible.' In those behind-the-scenes roles, she's fought to make Halifax's theatre scene more accessible to disabled audiences and performers alike. 'When I did get a little foot in the door in any organization, it was the drive to bring others with me who were still not being heard and still not getting through the space,' she said. '(I was) always thinking about, 'OK, I wasn't let into this space, but next year, if I'm here, who will I be welcoming in?'' Hubbard started volunteering at the Halifax Fringe Festival in 2003, and eventually became its chair. Over the years she was involved with the festival, the organization committed to only using venues that were fully accessible, and trained volunteers to be sighted guides to people who are blind or low-vision. She was also consulted when the Bus Stop Theatre co-op bought a building. They brought her on to make sure the space was accessible for both audiences and performers. At the beginning of her advocacy, she said, she was one of the only voices in the room. That's changed over time, as she's found others doing similar work. Those people have made it possible for her to rest when she needs to, she said, 'knowing there's other people out there who will still advocate as well.' Hubbard was also able to return to performance. It started in 2019, when the founders of LEGacy Circus reached out to her. They were training instructors on how to work with performers with atypical bodies and they asked Hubbard for help, she said. As soon as she touched the trapeze, she fell in love. Hubbard and her circus partner Vanessa Furlong started to work together, and soon she was performing publicly for the first time as an adult. She approached her art with thoughtfulness, in contrast to her teenage self taking whatever role came her way. 'In my circus practice, I'd make a really big part of it showing my body fully and not hiding its differences,' she said. She wanted the audience to think about how her being on stage was different from an able-bodied performer — and why it was so uncommon to see. 'It felt very much like returning home,' she said. 'And I didn't realize until I got back onstage just how much I had kind of quieted a part of my soul.' When COVID-19 hit, she didn't want to give that up. She'd been so accepted in the world of circus that she looked for another space that was welcoming to 'outsiders.' She'd done ticketing for drag shows in Halifax for years, so she was very familiar with the local scene and had long thought about becoming a drag artist herself. But at the time, she wasn't able to get onto most of the stages because of her wheelchair. So during the pandemic, when everyone was cooped up inside and drag artists started performing virtually, Hubbard developed her drag persona, Crip Tease. 'It was really amazing to get to do, to be creative at a time that everybody had those same limitations, everybody had to think about 'how am I going to make my art happen?' And it kind of evened the playing field in a lot of ways for me as a disabled artist,' she said. But since then, Hubbard's health has deteriorated. Her pain has worsened, and she's no longer able to perform. That pain led her to pursue a medically assisted death in 2023, and she qualified under Track 2, which is for people whose condition is grievous and irremediable but whose death is not imminent. That's given her some flexibility. She doesn't have a date set, she said, though she still plans to die later this year. Extending her life also means extending her pain, which she describes as a constant burning and pulling sensation. When it's at its worst, she said, it feels like her legs are being sent through a meat grinder. Weekly A weekly look at what's happening in Winnipeg's arts and entertainment scene. She's been resting up for the last several weeks to be able to make the journey to Ottawa, where she'll accept the Ramon John Hnatyshyn Award for Voluntarism in the Performing Arts in person. Others honourees include musician Jeremy Dutcher, music producer Bob Ezrin and Oscar-nominated actor Graham Greene. 'I'm very aware of the fact that most artists never get a recognition like this in their lifetime,' Hubbard said. 'They never get to experience the joy of hearing how much people appreciate them and their work. And those things are usually only said after somebody has already passed. So it feels like a real blessing to get to hear all that and to be here to experience all of those moments.' This report by The Canadian Press was first published June 12, 2025.
Toronto Sun
26-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Toronto Sun
The enduring enigma of Carrie Underwood
Published May 26, 2025 • 12 minute read "It's called the 'post and ghost.' You put your stuff out on the social media, and you don't look at the comments," said Underwood, seen here at the Trump inauguration. MUST CREDIT: Ricky Carioti/The Washington Post Photo by Ricky Carioti / The Washington Post LAS VEGAS – Carrie Underwood's Vegas residency show was an exercise in visual and tonal whiplash. One minute, the country music superstar strolled the stage in shimmering fringe crooning 'Cowboy Casanova' and demonstrated some sultry moves in black chaps over spiked heels for 'Drinking Alone.' The next, she set a car on fire during 'Before He Cheats.' This advertisement has not loaded yet, but your article continues below. THIS CONTENT IS RESERVED FOR SUBSCRIBERS ONLY Subscribe now to read the latest news in your city and across Canada. Unlimited online access to articles from across Canada with one account. Get exclusive access to the Toronto Sun ePaper, an electronic replica of the print edition that you can share, download and comment on. Enjoy insights and behind-the-scenes analysis from our award-winning journalists. Support local journalists and the next generation of journalists. Daily puzzles including the New York Times Crossword. SUBSCRIBE TO UNLOCK MORE ARTICLES Subscribe now to read the latest news in your city and across Canada. Unlimited online access to articles from across Canada with one account. Get exclusive access to the Toronto Sun ePaper, an electronic replica of the print edition that you can share, download and comment on. Enjoy insights and behind-the-scenes analysis from our award-winning journalists. Support local journalists and the next generation of journalists. Daily puzzles including the New York Times Crossword. REGISTER / SIGN IN TO UNLOCK MORE ARTICLES Create an account or sign in to continue with your reading experience. Access articles from across Canada with one account. Share your thoughts and join the conversation in the comments. Enjoy additional articles per month. Get email updates from your favourite authors. THIS ARTICLE IS FREE TO READ REGISTER TO UNLOCK. Create an account or sign in to continue with your reading experience. Access articles from across Canada with one account Share your thoughts and join the conversation in the comments Enjoy additional articles per month Get email updates from your favourite authors Don't have an account? Create Account Then, having changed into an ice-blue gown, she belted the baptism ballad 'Something in the Water' as her dancers clambered and writhed around on what looked like giant nails sticking out of the backdrop – a crucifixion allusion? – while sheets of liquid rained down. At one point, the star mused out loud that she wanted to take home the chopped-up junkyard sedan that her crew transformed into the spiky chair in which she perched to sing 'Two Black Cadillacs,' the tale of a wife and mistress who join forces to murder the cheating man they share. 'I think I'm going to put it in the living room. … Just have my dog in my lap, crocheting in my throne,' Underwood told her near-capacity crowd in the 5,000-seat Resorts World Las Vegas theater last month, a week before the end of her three-year residency there. 'It would be awesome.' This advertisement has not loaded yet, but your article continues below. Underwood, 42, has been slipping in and out of character since May 2005, when 30 million viewers watched her crowning as the fourth-season victor of 'American Idol.' Twenty years into her career, she remains a ubiquitous but elusive star, performing as Carrie Underwood, the top-selling and Grammy Award-winning musician, before retreating to her quiet family life on a sprawling Tennessee farm to become Carrie, the self-proclaimed 'homebody.' So it was a surprise to some when she was announced as one of the performers at Donald Trump's inauguration in January – catapulting the country singer into a rare mess of controversy. In a statement in January, Underwood – who has previously referred to politics as a 'nobody wins' morass that she would rather avoid – said she was honored to participate 'at a time when we must all come together in the spirit of unity and looking to the future.' Her choice, just six weeks before she returned to 'Idol' in March, sparked furious backlash from critics and fierce defense from fans. Your noon-hour look at what's happening in Toronto and beyond. By signing up you consent to receive the above newsletter from Postmedia Network Inc. Please try again This advertisement has not loaded yet, but your article continues below. While viewership numbers are a fraction of what they were in the 'Idol' early-aughts heyday on Fox, millions tune in each week to the show, now on ABC. Underwood joined as a judge this season alongside Lionel Richie and Luke Bryan, and although her publicist said she was not available for an interview for this story, it seems evident that the show not only transformed her life but also shaped her approach to her career. The reality show that original judge Simon Cowell snippily insisted was a pure 'singing competition' – that is, not a popularity contest – in fact originally served as an image-crafting boot camp that taught Underwood how to appeal to music-industry gatekeepers, make the smart song choices and dole out just enough of herself to remain a relatable yet enigmatic figure. But watching Underwood experience her most significant career backlash two decades later, it's clear the show also taught her to rely on her own instincts and, perhaps most importantly, how to handle – or filter out – criticism. She has talked about how she competed on the show at the height of internet message boards, and so learned early the value in shutting down outside voices and continuing in whatever lane you feel will suit you best. This advertisement has not loaded yet, but your article continues below. 'It's called the 'post and ghost.' You put your stuff out on the social media, and you don't look at the comments. That's how I live my life, man,' Underwood told the young contestants on an episode last month, advising them on how to deal with online hate. In a recent interview, she credited polarizing podcaster Joe Rogan for the 'post and ghost' philosophy. 'Anytime anybody thinks they're yelling at me or insulting me or telling me I look a certain way – or I'm not enough this, or I'm too much that – they're just yelling at the clouds. I don't hear or see any of it.' – – – For all the general dismissiveness about 'American Idol' nearly a quarter-century after its debut (yes, it's still on the air; the Season 23 finale aired last Sunday), the show maintains a hold on anyone who remembers when the nation gathered weekly to watch Cowell tear apart terrible singers, while nicer judges Paula Abdul and Randy Jackson sought to bolster them. At Underwood's Vegas concert, attendees cited a variety of reasons for their attendance: They were country music fans; they were Underwood fans; she seemed like the best entertainment option on the Vegas Strip that night. But all of them remembered Underwood from 'Idol.' This advertisement has not loaded yet, but your article continues below. When the public first met Underwood in early 2005, she wasn't exactly a novice – she had snagged a development deal with a major record label as a teenager and performed at events around her hometown of Checotah, Oklahoma. But 'Idol' producers cast her as the fourth season's wide-eyed ingenue, a 21-year-old college senior who grew up on a farm and had never been on an airplane. Cowell, notably not a country fan, was wowed by Underwood's audition, to which she showed up in jeans and a T-shirt, and sang Bonnie Raitt's 'I Can't Make You Love Me.' She quickly became the front-runner with memorable country covers, and when the judges complained she was getting predictable, she sealed her victory with a bombastic version of Heart's 'Alone.' Cowell famously predicted she would not only win the show but sell more records than any previous 'Idol' winner. He was correct, and while other 'Idol' winners have gone on to collect multiplatinum albums, and finalist Jennifer Hudson won an Oscar, Underwood is arguably the last superstar the show produced. This advertisement has not loaded yet, but your article continues below. At the time, though, producers played up her naïveté: When host Ryan Seacrest asked if she had seen any stars in Hollywood, and she replied that it had been too cloudy, that segment was used on air – played for laughs, though many fans found it relatable. 'I just liked her voice … and I liked that she was from a small town,' said Lindsay Fuller of Las Vegas, who runs an Underwood fan account on Instagram with more than 57,000 followers. 'She's an all-American girl, I guess you could say.' In interviews, Underwood describes herself as awkward around crowds and strangers. That's not exactly ideal for the authenticity-craving world of country music, where fans and executives alike place a premium on engaging personal interactions. But when Underwood won the show and landed a record deal with Arista Nashville, she had an enormous head start. Everyone in the industry watched 'Idol,' and even if she wasn't comfortable opening up, people already felt like they knew her. This advertisement has not loaded yet, but your article continues below. Label executive Skip Bishop started at Arista as the vice president of national promotion in fall 2005, and his new boss handed him a CD with 'Jesus, Take the Wheel' scrawled across the cover. This was the first single from Underwood's debut album, and it was Bishop's job to get country radio to play it. He anticipated a struggle. Country radio doesn't always welcome newcomers, particularly reality TV contestants. But Underwood's star power overshadowed any doubts. Forged by the brutal production schedule of 'Idol,' she was game to put in the hours. Just a few years into her career, she was tapped to co-host the Country Music Association Awards with superstar Brad Paisley, a gig she kept for the next decade, becoming one of the genre's most visible faces. This advertisement has not loaded yet, but your article continues below. 'She had that focus and that work ethic that matched all the God-given talent,' Bishop said. 'I've never worked with anyone that had that combination of the shyness and the low-key-ness but also had the steel-eyed confidence that she has.' 'Jesus, Take the Wheel' lingered at No. 1 for six weeks, and Underwood's 'Some Hearts' debut album sold millions of copies, even as the country charts were squeezing out most other female artists. A subsequent single, 'Before He Cheats' – told from the point of view of a betrayed woman destroying an unfaithful man's car – could not have been more different from her first track. But Underwood embraced the persona convincingly, for a career-defining hit that showed she could tackle bitter revenge anthems as well as tender ballads. For someone still adjusting to fame, and whose stage presence was occasionally criticized as robotic, it could be easier to play a character. This advertisement has not loaded yet, but your article continues below. 'We can tell a story in country music,' Underwood said in Vegas by way of introduction to 'Church Bells,' about a woman who poisons her abusive husband. 'Sometimes those stories are not all sunshine and roses. Sometimes they are stormy and dark and dramatic and cinematic, and in my case, sometimes somebody gets killed. And that's okay! You know? We all have our things.' Bishop remembers Underwood being incredibly quiet behind the scenes – until the red light went on in the recording studio, and she just 'exploded with magnetism.' Some might have seen her as standoffish, he said. But as soon as she walked onstage, or the camera turned on, she became another person. Even when Underwood started to co-write and co-produce her albums with some of Nashville's best writers, she shied away from country music's autobiographical tropes in favor of lyrics from the perspective of fictional narrators. In 2017, she left Arista for Capitol Records Nashville and recorded her sixth album, 'Cry Pretty,' with an unusually vulnerable title track about hiding one's pain while pretending everything is fine. At a Nashville industry event in early 2020, the heads of her record company surprised her with a plaque when the album went platinum, and Underwood was overwhelmed. This advertisement has not loaded yet, but your article continues below. 'This is the project that I've done and the album that I've done that is the most 'me,'' Underwood said, getting choked up. 'I'm honored, and I'm humbled, and God is good.' As Underwood built a loyal fan base, she appeared careful and consistent with the few details she shared about her life – mainly centered on family, fitness and faith. Tabloids remain fascinated by her marriage to professional hockey player Mike Fisher – they wed in 2010 – and their two young sons. She carved a brand in the wellness space with a fitness clothing line and app, and a book, 'Find Your Path,' in which she was candid about how she struggled with strangers critiquing her physical appearance on 'Idol.' She has always been open about her Christian beliefs, recording the gospel album 'My Savior' and starring in a web series with Fisher for a Christian organization, where they discussed their fertility challenges. This season on 'Idol,' the show had its first-ever Easter celebration where contestants sang songs of faith. (The show's publicists did not respond to a question about whether Underwood's presence influenced that episode.) 'I know how difficult it is to come into the entertainment industry and bring your faith with you,' she told a pair of contestants who sang a worship song. 'It is a brave thing to do because there are a lot of – a lot of – outside forces that are going to tell you not to do that.' This advertisement has not loaded yet, but your article continues below. Like many country artists, Underwood has mostly avoided sharing her thoughts on specific current events. She voiced her support for same-sex marriage in 2012 – but when she released a thematically resonant song, 'Love Wins,' years later, she maintained that it was more generally about hope for a better world. She also emphasized that her song 'The Bullet,' about the devastating aftermath of gun violence, was not a political message. She did not respond to the internet uproar in 2021 when she and her husband appeared to support anti-mask posts on social media during the covid-19 pandemic. 'I try to stay far out of politics if possible, at least in public, because nobody wins,' Underwood told the Guardian in 2019. 'Everybody tries to sum everything up and put a bow on it, like it's black and white. And it's not like that.' This advertisement has not loaded yet, but your article continues below. Hence, the clamor when Underwood appeared to abandon that stance by gracing the stage at the Trump inauguration. (Technical audio difficulties at the U.S. Capitol forced her to perform 'America the Beautiful' a cappella.) Though the world of country music skews more conservative than most quadrants of show business, Underwood's choice was viewed as a betrayal from longtime genre-agnostic 'Idol' fans, especially those in the LGBTQ+ community aggrieved by the new administration's push to roll back equal rights. An Underwood fan account made headlines by switching country star allegiances and becoming a Megan Moroney fan account instead. Constantine Maroulis, a popular 'Idol' Season 4 finalist and Tony Award nominee, knows members of Underwood's inner circle. (She has maintained the same career manager and tour manager from her early post-'Idol' career.) He assumes that her team analyzed the pros and cons and anticipated the reaction to an inauguration appearance. He personally would have not made the same decision, Maroulis said, but he supports Underwood as a friend. As he remembers from their season, the unassuming small-town girl understood the reality of the music business. This advertisement has not loaded yet, but your article continues below. Plus, at this point in her career, Underwood doesn't have a lot to lose. In Nashville, some mainstream country stars, such as Jason Aldean and Brian Kelley, have become increasingly vocal about their support of Trump. And while Underwood's singles don't break through on the radio as they once did, she remains a sought-after duet partner – she teamed up with Aldean on one recent hit and Cody Johnson on another – who can still command TV audiences and sell concert tickets. In addition to her lifestyle brands, she has her own SiriusXM radio channel. Even if she doesn't wear her ambition on her sleeve, those who worked with her say it is a driving force. 'She was someone to be reckoned with,' Maroulis said. The contestants formed a tight bond during their surreal experience on the show, but they never forgot they were competitors. 'I love that about her,' he added. 'She has a killer instinct inside of her, as well.' This advertisement has not loaded yet, but your article continues below. – – – Season 23 of 'American Idol' has served as a love letter to Underwood, with ample flashbacks to her competition days; Maroulis appeared with several other contestants for a brief Season 4 reunion on an episode in April. Producers have tried to showcase sides of Underwood that might surprise audiences – her deep knowledge of heavy metal lyrics, her friendly verbal jabs at Luke Bryan. On a web-only series, she watches scenes from her season and offers commentary, or reads passages from her old journal. As always, she continues to open up to the viewing public on her terms. 'Idol' was barely referenced in her Vegas act, which Underwood introduced as a journey through '20 years of a career that I am so proud of' – except for a fleeting image of her on the show, displayed on the screen behind her before 'Something in the Water,' a reminder of where she came from and the road she took to get here. This advertisement has not loaded yet, but your article continues below. 'From a very young age I was singing, and I would have told you in a heartbeat that this was what I was going to be doing someday,' Underwood said at one point in the show. 'Thanks to so many blessings, the good Lord put me on this path. Somehow we all ended up here. And it is divine intervention for sure.' Read More Love concerts, but can't make it to the venue? Stream live shows and events from your couch with VEEPS, a music-first streaming service now operating in Canada. Click here for an introductory offer of 30% off. Explore upcoming concerts and the extensive archive of past performances! Ontario Music Sunshine Girls Money News World
Yahoo
19-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
The enduring enigma of Carrie Underwood
LAS VEGAS Carrie Underwood's Vegas residency show was an exercise in visual and tonal whiplash. One minute, the country music superstar strolled the stage in shimmering fringe crooning 'Cowboy Casanova' and demonstrated some sultry moves in black chaps over spiked heels for 'Drinking Alone.' The next, she set a car on fire during 'Before He Cheats.' Then, having changed into an ice-blue gown, she belted the baptism ballad 'Something in the Water' as her dancers clambered and writhed around on what looked like giant nails sticking out of the backdrop — a crucifixion allusion? — while sheets of liquid rained down. At one point, the star mused out loud that she wanted to take home the chopped-up junkyard sedan that her crew transformed into the spiky chair in which she perched to sing 'Two Black Cadillacs,' the tale of a wife and mistress who join forces to murder the cheating man they share. 'I think I'm going to put it in the living room. … Just have my dog in my lap, crocheting in my throne,' Underwood told her near-capacity crowd in the 5,000-seat Resorts World Las Vegas theater last month, a week before the end of her three-year residency there. 'It would be awesome.' Underwood, 42, has been slipping in and out of character since May 2005, when 30 million viewers watched her crowning as the fourth-season victor of 'American Idol.' Twenty years into her career, she remains a ubiquitous but elusive star, performing as Carrie Underwood, the top-selling and Grammy Award-winning musician, before retreating to her quiet family life on a sprawling Tennessee farm to become Carrie, the self-proclaimed 'homebody.' So it was a surprise to some when she was announced as one of the performers at Donald Trump's inauguration in January — catapulting the country singer into a rare mess of controversy. In a statement in January, Underwood — who has previously referred to politics as a 'nobody wins' morass that she would rather avoid — said she was honored to participate 'at a time when we must all come together in the spirit of unity and looking to the future.' Her choice, just six weeks before she returned to 'Idol' in March, sparked furious backlash from critics and fierce defense from fans. While viewership numbers are a fraction of what they were in the 'Idol' early-aughts heyday on Fox, millions tune in each week to the show, now on ABC. Underwood joined as a judge this season alongside Lionel Richie and Luke Bryan, and although her publicist said she was not available for an interview for this story, it seems evident that the show not only transformed her life but also shaped her approach to her career. The reality show that original judge Simon Cowell snippily insisted was a pure 'singing competition' — that is, not a popularity contest — in fact originally served as an image-crafting boot camp that taught Underwood how to appeal to music-industry gatekeepers, make the smart song choices and dole out just enough of herself to remain a relatable yet enigmatic figure. But watching Underwood experience her most significant career backlash two decades later, it's clear the show also taught her to rely on her own instincts and, perhaps most importantly, how to handle — or filter out — criticism. She has talked about how she competed on the show at the height of internet message boards, and so learned early the value in shutting down outside voices and continuing in whatever lane you feel will suit you best. 'It's called the 'post and ghost.' You put your stuff out on the social media, and you don't look at the comments. That's how I live my life, man,' Underwood told the young contestants on an episode last month, advising them on how to deal with online hate. In a recent interview, she credited polarizing podcaster Joe Rogan for the 'post and ghost' philosophy. 'Anytime anybody thinks they're yelling at me or insulting me or telling me I look a certain way — or I'm not enough this, or I'm too much that — they're just yelling at the clouds. I don't hear or see any of it.' For all the general dismissiveness about 'American Idol' nearly a quarter-century after its debut (yes, it's still on the air; the Season 23 finale airs Sunday), the show maintains a hold on anyone who remembers when the nation gathered weekly to watch Cowell tear apart terrible singers, while nicer judges Paula Abdul and Randy Jackson sought to bolster them. At Underwood's Vegas concert, attendees cited a variety of reasons for their attendance: They were country music fans; they were Underwood fans; she seemed like the best entertainment option on the Vegas Strip that night. But all of them remembered Underwood from 'Idol.' When the public first met Underwood in early 2005, she wasn't exactly a novice — she had snagged a development deal with a major record label as a teenager and performed at events around her hometown of Checotah, Oklahoma. But 'Idol' producers cast her as the fourth season's wide-eyed ingenue, a 21-year-old college senior who grew up on a farm and had never been on an airplane. Cowell, notably not a country fan, was wowed by Underwood's audition, to which she showed up in jeans and a T-shirt, and sang Bonnie Raitt's 'I Can't Make You Love Me.' She quickly became the front-runner with memorable country covers, and when the judges complained she was getting predictable, she sealed her victory with a bombastic version of Heart's 'Alone.' Cowell famously predicted she would not only win the show but sell more records than any previous 'Idol' winner. He was correct, and while other 'Idol' winners have gone on to collect multiplatinum albums, and finalist Jennifer Hudson won an Oscar, Underwood is arguably the last superstar the show produced. At the time, though, producers played up her naïveté: When host Ryan Seacrest asked if she had seen any stars in Hollywood, and she replied that it had been too cloudy, that segment was used on air — played for laughs, though many fans found it relatable. 'I just liked her voice … and I liked that she was from a small town,' said Lindsay Fuller of Las Vegas, who runs an Underwood fan account on Instagram with more than 57,000 followers. 'She's an all-American girl, I guess you could say.' In interviews, Underwood describes herself as awkward around crowds and strangers. That's not exactly ideal for the authenticity-craving world of country music, where fans and executives alike place a premium on engaging personal interactions. But when Underwood won the show and landed a record deal with Arista Nashville, she had an enormous head start. Everyone in the industry watched 'Idol,' and even if she wasn't comfortable opening up, people already felt like they knew her. Label executive Skip Bishop started at Arista as the vice president of national promotion in fall 2005, and his new boss handed him a CD with 'Jesus, Take the Wheel' scrawled across the cover. This was the first single from Underwood's debut album, and it was Bishop's job to get country radio to play it. He anticipated a struggle. Country radio doesn't always welcome newcomers, particularly reality TV contestants. But Underwood's star power overshadowed any doubts. Forged by the brutal production schedule of 'Idol,' she was game to put in the hours. Just a few years into her career, she was tapped to co-host the Country Music Association Awards with superstar Brad Paisley, a gig she kept for the next decade, becoming one of the genre's most visible faces. 'She had that focus and that work ethic that matched all the God-given talent,' Bishop said. 'I've never worked with anyone that had that combination of the shyness and the low-key-ness but also had the steel-eyed confidence that she has.' 'Jesus, Take the Wheel' lingered at No. 1 for six weeks, and Underwood's 'Some Hearts' debut album sold millions of copies, even as the country charts were squeezing out most other female artists. A subsequent single, 'Before He Cheats' — told from the point of view of a betrayed woman destroying an unfaithful man's car — could not have been more different from her first track. But Underwood embraced the persona convincingly, for a career-defining hit that showed she could tackle bitter revenge anthems as well as tender ballads. For someone still adjusting to fame, and whose stage presence was occasionally criticized as robotic, it could be easier to play a character. 'We can tell a story in country music,' Underwood said in Vegas by way of introduction to 'Church Bells,' about a woman who poisons her abusive husband. 'Sometimes those stories are not all sunshine and roses. Sometimes they are stormy and dark and dramatic and cinematic, and in my case, sometimes somebody gets killed. And that's okay! You know? We all have our things.' Bishop remembers Underwood being incredibly quiet behind the scenes — until the red light went on in the recording studio, and she just 'exploded with magnetism.' Some might have seen her as standoffish, he said. But as soon as she walked onstage, or the camera turned on, she became another person. Even when Underwood started to co-write and co-produce her albums with some of Nashville's best writers, she shied away from country music's autobiographical tropes in favor of lyrics from the perspective of fictional narrators. In 2017, she left Arista for Capitol Records Nashville and recorded her sixth album, 'Cry Pretty,' with an unusually vulnerable title track about hiding one's pain while pretending everything is fine. At a Nashville industry event in early 2020, the heads of her record company surprised her with a plaque when the album went platinum, and Underwood was overwhelmed. 'This is the project that I've done and the album that I've done that is the most 'me,'' Underwood said, getting choked up. 'I'm honored, and I'm humbled, and God is good.' As Underwood built a loyal fan base, she appeared careful and consistent with the few details she shared about her life — mainly centered on family, fitness and faith. Tabloids remain fascinated by her marriage to professional hockey player Mike Fisher — they wed in 2010 — and their two young sons. She carved a brand in the wellness space with a fitness clothing line and app, and a book, 'Find Your Path,' in which she was candid about how she struggled with strangers critiquing her physical appearance on 'Idol.' She has always been open about her Christian beliefs, recording the gospel album 'My Savior' and starring in a web series with Fisher for a Christian organization, where they discussed their fertility challenges. This season on 'Idol,' the show had its first-ever Easter celebration where contestants sang songs of faith. (The show's publicists did not respond to a question about whether Underwood's presence influenced that episode.) 'I know how difficult it is to come into the entertainment industry and bring your faith with you,' she told a pair of contestants who sang a worship song. 'It is a brave thing to do because there are a lot of — a lot of — outside forces that are going to tell you not to do that.' Like many country artists, Underwood has mostly avoided sharing her thoughts on specific current events. She voiced her support for same-sex marriage in 2012 — but when she released a thematically resonant song, 'Love Wins,' years later, she maintained that it was more generally about hope for a better world. She also emphasized that her song 'The Bullet,' about the devastating aftermath of gun violence, was not a political message. She did not respond to the internet uproar in 2021 when she and her husband appeared to support anti-mask posts on social media during the covid-19 pandemic. 'I try to stay far out of politics if possible, at least in public, because nobody wins,' Underwood told the Guardian in 2019. 'Everybody tries to sum everything up and put a bow on it, like it's black and white. And it's not like that.' Hence, the clamor when Underwood appeared to abandon that stance by gracing the stage at the Trump inauguration. (Technical audio difficulties at the U.S. Capitol forced her to perform 'America the Beautiful' a cappella.) Though the world of country music skews more conservative than most quadrants of show business, Underwood's choice was viewed as a betrayal from longtime genre-agnostic 'Idol' fans, especially those in the LGBTQ+ community aggrieved by the new administration's push to roll back equal rights. An Underwood fan account made headlines by switching country star allegiances and becoming a Megan Moroney fan account instead. Constantine Maroulis, a popular 'Idol' Season 4 finalist and Tony Award nominee, knows members of Underwood's inner circle. (She has maintained the same career manager and tour manager from her early post-'Idol' career.) He assumes that her team analyzed the pros and cons and anticipated the reaction to an inauguration appearance. He personally would have not made the same decision, Maroulis said, but he supports Underwood as a friend. As he remembers from their season, the unassuming small-town girl understood the reality of the music business. Plus, at this point in her career, Underwood doesn't have a lot to lose. In Nashville, some mainstream country stars, such as Jason Aldean and Brian Kelley, have become increasingly vocal about their support of Trump. And while Underwood's singles don't break through on the radio as they once did, she remains a sought-after duet partner — she teamed up with Aldean on one recent hit and Cody Johnson on another — who can still command TV audiences and sell concert tickets. In addition to her lifestyle brands, she has her own SiriusXM radio channel. Even if she doesn't wear her ambition on her sleeve, those who worked with her say it is a driving force. 'She was someone to be reckoned with,' Maroulis said. The contestants formed a tight bond during their surreal experience on the show, but they never forgot they were competitors. 'I love that about her,' he added. 'She has a killer instinct inside of her, as well.' Season 23 of 'American Idol' has served as a love letter to Underwood, with ample flashbacks to her competition days; Maroulis appeared with several other contestants for a brief Season 4 reunion on an episode in April. Producers have tried to showcase sides of Underwood that might surprise audiences — her deep knowledge of heavy metal lyrics, her friendly verbal jabs at Luke Bryan. On a web-only series, she watches scenes from her season and offers commentary, or reads passages from her old journal. As always, she continues to open up to the viewing public on her terms. 'Idol' was barely referenced in her Vegas act, which Underwood introduced as a journey through '20 years of a career that I am so proud of' — except for a fleeting image of her on the show, displayed on the screen behind her before 'Something in the Water,' a reminder of where she came from and the road she took to get here. 'From a very young age I was singing, and I would have told you in a heartbeat that this was what I was going to be doing someday,' Underwood said at one point in the show. 'Thanks to so many blessings, the good Lord put me on this path. Somehow we all ended up here. And it is divine intervention for sure.'
