Dolly Parton is a feminist heroine who won’t say the F-word, a queer icon who conservatives can’t quit. She’s declined presidential honors from both sides of the aisle in her efforts to stay apolitical. For more than 50 years, she’s maintained an equal focus on the creative and commercial sides of the industry, developing an unparalleled brand management strategy that’s earned her millions. She extends that ethos to her new 30-song rock album, Rockstar, a dense and star-studded collection that sounds like the millennium’s most expensive karaoke party. Dolly Parton has never been one for minimalism, and who else could bring together Michael McDonald, P!nk, and Debbie Harry alongside Kid Rock and the current iteration of Lynyrd Skynyrd?
Parton’s path to Rockstar was a straight shot from her induction into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 2022, an honor she initially declined so as not to “stir up controversy.” Rock and country fans volleyed questions about genre, artistic merit, and supposed imposter syndrome before Parton changed her mind, eventually attending the ceremony and performing “Jolene” with Rob Halford, Pat Benatar, Annie Lennox, and more. Parton has said that the experience compelled her to make a “real” rock record, but on Rockstar, the framework of rock music is relatively narrow, with covers of songs by Led Zeppelin, the Rolling Stones, Bob Seger, and Peter Frampton. She sings “Let It Be” with the last two living Beatles yelping absent-minded harmonies. Formulaic arrangements keep the arena-size guitars, keys, and drums all turned up to 11. Apart from the occasional piano ballad reprieve, everything frantically signals rock music. The unrelenting emphasis on a single sound obliterates the careful details that made most of the originals so striking to begin with.
Parton delivers an abundance of material that vacillates between boilerplate and downright baffling. Her original song “World on Fire” cribs Queen’s signature stomp-claps, which she revisits when she stitches together “We Are the Champions” and “We Will Rock You.” The contested king of rock’n’roll takes the spotlight in another Parton original, the alarming sock-hop fever dream “I Dreamed About Elvis,” which re-hashes the history of “I Will Always Love You” and imagines the singers in a duet that never happened. She dutifully churns through songs like Journey’s “Open Arms” and REO Speedwagon’s “Keep on Loving You.” And sure, fuck it, get Lizzo to toot a flute on “Stairway to Heaven”! The record ends with “Free Bird,” an 11-minute fart of a closing cliché.
Amid songs first cut by Sting and Elton John and an eight-minute “Purple Rain,” Parton almost branches out when she embraces more contemporary material. Miley Cyrus’ “Wrecking Ball” is one of the most recent selections, a song that Parton said nearly made her weep the first time she heard it. Cyrus sings alongside her godmother on the re-work, which sags under dramatic orchestral flourishes, and Parton again reminds listeners of “I Will Always Love You” in the coda. 4 Non Blondes’ “What’s Up?” gets a faithful lift from original writer (and current Nashville heavy hitter) Linda Perry, but Parton’s sweeping vocals in the chorus don’t quite reach the power that Perry’s original take commands.
Rockstar has a strange storybook quality, in part due to Parton’s penchant for ending some of her lines in a spoken whisper. The record opens with “Rockstar,” where the 77-year-old Parton rebukes her fictional parents in an exchange that echoes Macaulay Culkin’s opening scenes in Michael Jackson’s “Black or White” video. The song plays up Parton’s desire to be a “rockstar,” singing about chasing her dreams as former Bon Jovi guitarist Richie Sambora follows along with competently crunchy riffs. There’s more hokiness jammed in the album’s interstitial spaces, as when Parton banters with Joan Jett (“I Hate Myself for Loving You”) and Stevie Nicks (“What Has Rock and Roll Ever Done for You”). She returns to the rock-referential theme with Melissa Etheridge on “Tried to Rock and Roll Me,” but the subject never really finds enough traction to stick.
It seems there is some deeper degree of sincerity to Rockstar, which Parton has also heralded as a tribute to Carl Dean, her reclusive husband of more than 50 years. He gets a nod in the “Carl Version” of “Magic Man,” which otherwise sounds a lot like the Heart version of “Magic Man.” With Dean in mind, Parton also revamps “My Blue Tears,” which she’d previously recorded with her Trio companions Linda Ronstadt and Emmylou Harris. This time, she’s got Simon Le Bon, a sentimental tin whistle, and massive-sounding drums. She nods at Trio again when she takes on “You’re No Good,” a signature Ronstadt number, with Harris and Sheryl Crow. But even these songs with a personal legacy for Parton are more interested in upholding the Rock Hall’s hidebound ideals than revealing her own relationship with rock music.
The album’s more tender moments can’t outrun its subtextual baggage. Guest appearances from Perry, Etheridge, and Brandi Carlile gesture toward queer inclusion, but their contributions sit alongside other figures whose presence negates any hope that Rockstar could make the rock institution feel like a more welcoming place. Steven Tyler, whose sexual relationships with minors were public knowledge long before the lawsuits filed earlier this year, makes an appearance on “I Want You Back.” “Either Or” is a horn-heavy duet with Kid Rock, who recently shot up several cases of Bud Light with an assault rifle because the beer company recruited a trans spokesperson. Parton herself insists that she “loves everybody,” but only she seems to benefit from the comfort of the harmonious middle ground she’s staked out. Her ascension to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame highlighted plenty of legitimate open questions, not least that of the institution’s continued relevance. But Rockstar adds almost nothing to the conversation, and the powerful allure of “playing to the middle” feels like a black hole instead.
