If an enduring trait of the bro-country continuum involves the self-sabotaging, toxic man who seeks pity for his inability to manage romantic relationships, then Megan Moroney is here to tell the other side of the story. The girl he cheated on? She’s on the phone with her mom venting about how she was out of his league to begin with. He got home at 4 a.m. drunk again? Her bags are already packed, buddy. And she might just see what his friends are up to tomorrow.
After bursting on to the scene in 2022 with “Tennessee Orange,” a heartwarming singalong that has gone triple platinum in SEC bars, Moroney was quickly embraced by Nashville’s upper echelon. Her 2023 debut, Lucky, announced her as both a rising star and songwriter in pop-country. Her sand-blonde hair and silver tongue drew comparisons to Dolly Parton and Loretta Lynn, and her writing displayed qualities that fall in line with some of country music’s greats: tight, humorously self-aware narratives and an embedded use of place (her home state of Georgia, in particular). Her third album, Cloud 9, solidifies her as a mainstream country star who hasn’t entirely submitted to the machine.
That being said, a strong push from the commercial country music industry comes with certain concessions. This is big business: Moroney has a Target partnership in place and an upcoming arena tour to sell out. There are moments on Cloud 9 when the production is forced to take on a bigger sound than it needs (see the Camp Rock-esque guitar riffs on “Change of Heart” and “Stupid”), and, at times, her writing loses her stamp due to overgeneralization (“Table for Two”). To Moroney’s credit, she avoids the trappings of an exhaustive tracklist—15 songs compared to the 25-plus that is becoming standard. And her first real use of features—with A-listers Ed Sheeran and Kacey Musgraves—offer back-and-forths with chemistry rather than cheap duets that sound like they’re fulfilling an obligation to boost Spotify streams.
Megan Moroney is at her best when acting out one of two roles: a sweetheart with razor-sharp fangs or a neurotic who questions every text she sends. “6 Months Later” is a trademark Moroney track, as she sings in her raspy Southern twang about karma coming for a guy who ghosts her then tries, six months later, to patch things up. She’s over him by then but, just for the fun of it, decides to toy with him. “Wish I Didn’t” follows suit, issuing some advice to a potential beau while flashing a smile and gripping a knife: “I’ve heard all of the horror stories/Your graveyard of girls before me/If you play dirty/Hmm, how do I say this?/Hell hath no fury.”
Things start to fall off the rails when she paints with broader strokes. “Convincing” is radio-ready fodder about a beach-trip fling that a hundred other country singers could pull off; “Wedding Dress” stretches an already thin cliché about never getting over your ex with barren production that leaves her stranded with some of the album’s weakest writing. During “Liars & Tigers & Bears,” a letter of advice to her younger self, Moroney matter-of-factly acknowledges the beast she’s in the belly of: “Stay in your lane but evolve and get better/If you sell your soul, we’ll help you break records.” It’s safe to say that she’s not there yet, and for now, her music is all the better for it.
