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Somewhere in the midst of a breakout year that included her first platinum single, a Grammy nomination, and an ACM Award, Hailey Whitters became royalty. On the internet, at least. 

 “Fans started calling me the ‘Corn Queen’ because I’m from Iowa,” Whitters explains. “At first, it seemed kind of silly, but the more I thought about it, the more I loved the duality of it. Corn is this simple, humble crop, and ‘queen’ implies royalty passed down through blood. I come from a long line of blue-collar farmers, construction workers, and bootstrappers. I’ve been out here for over a decade brushing my teeth in truck stop bathrooms, sleeping on hotel floors, driving myself from gig to gig. It’s not glamorous, but I’m proud of it. I like the idea of a queen with little grit and elbow grease.” 

Whitters wears the crown proudly on her highly anticipated fourth album, Corn Queen, showcasing not only her relentless work ethic, but also her undeniable talent and charm. Recorded once again in Nashville with longtime collaborator (and now-husband) Jake Gear, the collection is a rousing reflection on Whitters’ midwestern roots and the joys and struggles of small-town living. The writing is whip smart, full of clever wordplay and evocative storytelling, and the performances are utterly intoxicating, walking the line between classic and contemporary country with a healthy dose of bluegrass energy thrown in for good measure. Whitters has long been recognized as a master craftswoman, but Corn Queen solidifies her status as a genuine star, one with the wisdom—and the guts—to trust her instincts as she blazes her own singular trail through the industry.  

“I’ve been in this town long enough to make it to the Emerald City,” Whitters reflects. “I’ve 
peeked behind the curtain and seen the wizard and I’m not impressed. I'm done with the endless pursuit of the carrot, with chasing things that don’t really matter. All I want to do is write great songs for the people that want to hear them.” 

Born and raised in Shueyville, Iowa, Whitters moved to Nashville at 17 and spent much of the next decade grinding it out under the radar as an artist and writer. She released a well-received debut, Black Sheep, in 2015, and garnered early industry attention landing cuts with big name artists like Martina McBride, Alan Jackson, and Little Big Town, but it was Whitters’ 2020 sophomore effort, The Dream, that truly began opening doors. The Washington Post called it “the year’s deepest country album,” while Rolling Stone declared it “the type of record that could propel an artist as talented as Whitters in a million different directions.” Whitters delivered on that promise two years later with her third album, Raised, which earned her performances on Jimmy Kimmel Live!, The Today Show, and Kelly Clarkson alongside profiles everywhere from NPR’s Weekend Edition to The New Yorker. Festival dates at Coachella, Stagecoach, and Bonnaroo followed, as did tours with Luke Combs, Shania Twain, Dierks Bentley, Eric Church, and Luke Bryan. Rolling Stone proclaimed Raised the top country album of 2022; lead single “Everything She Ain’t” went platinum and cracked the top 20 at country radio; and Whitters took home the ACM Award for New Female Artist of the Year in addition to garnering her first CMA and Grammy nominations. 

 “It’s been a true roller coaster these last few years,” Whitters explains. “On the surface, it all looked really incredible, but I was paying a price for it behind the scenes, both physically and emotionally, and all those high highs and low lows really helped put things into perspective.” 

When the whirlwind finally slowed down enough for Whitters to catch her breath, she realized she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life pursuing anyone else’s dreams but her own.  

“I got pretty lost in it all for a while there and needed a reset,” she explains. “I needed to take off the costumes and the makeup and reconnect with the girl underneath it all.”  

So Whitters did what’s always come most naturally to her: she wrote. On off days back in Nashville, in dressing rooms and hotels on the road, wherever she could find the space and the time, Whitters used her pen and her guitar to reckon with the massive changes in her life, drilling down to the core of who she is and where she comes from. 

“I often write with other people,” Whitters says, “but one day I sat down and wrote this song called ‘High On The Hog’ all by myself, and suddenly the whole concept of the record just clicked into place. It was such an unfiltered moment, just me sitting there telling the truth, and it really helped me find my voice on this album.” 

“High On The Hog” kicks Corn Queen off in rousing fashion, with rollicking guitars, banjo, and fiddle propelling the tune forward at the same breakneck pace Whitters has kept on the road for the past several years. “I roll up these puffy sleeves / And I put on these fake eyelashes,” she sings, tongue planted firmly in cheek. “Might look like the dream but being Corn Queen / Ain’t all crowns and sashes.” Like much of Whitters’ catalog, it’s a masterclass in balancing old school country forms with modern pop sensibilities, but there’s a newfound liberation at play here, a freewheeling self-assurance that pushes the music to ecstatic heights. The blistering “Prodigal Daughter (feat. Molly Tuttle)” finds Whitters embracing bluegrass more than ever before as she spins a tale of Hell-raising and troublemaking, while “The Nail” reveals a darker, sassier side of her personality, and the soaring “Helluva Heart” celebrates the resilience that’s gotten her this far, with Whitters singing, “Life ain’t no bed of roses but I sleep just fine / These wheels roll a little bit rusted but that’s where I shine.” 

“You get knocked down, you get back up, and you keep on swinging,” she reflects. “That’s been my story and my takeaway from nearly two decades in Nashville. Going through tough times builds character, and I’m proud of that.”  

Whitters leans into the autobiographical throughout the record—she recounts her unlikely origin story on the infectious “Shotgun Wedding Baby,” raises a glass to small-town values on the driving “Anything Like Me,” and cuts loose at her hometown honky-tonk on the joyful “DanceMor”—but she imbues everything she sings with profound empathy and conviction whether it’s her own personal story or not. The aching “Casseroles,” for instance, was penned by three of Whitters’ favorite collaborators (Hillary Lindsey, Tom Douglas, and James Slater), but she still manages to locate herself in the song’s ruminations on grief and the passage of time, capturing all the pain and confusion and sadness of losing a loved one with a raw and arresting vulnerability. 

“My brother passed away in 2011, and I remember everyone just piling into our house and leaving us all this food even though we were too distraught to eat,” Whitters recalls. “The first time I heard this song, I broke down in tears because it captured that feeling when the casseroles stop coming, when it seems like everyone else has moved on, but you never will.” 

The entrancing “White Limousine,” meanwhile, is a smoky, pop-leaning work of romantic fantasy still very much rooted in Whitters’ wheelhouse, with a small-town narrator singing about desire and escape, if only in her dreams. It’s perhaps the rowdy title track, though, that best embodies Whitters’ ability to blend humor and heart as she takes her fans’ online nickname and spins it into the story of a former homecoming queen making the most of life after her brush with local fame. “Yea she ain’t all that,” Whitters sings, “but she ain’t half bad for a former Corn Queen.” 

 “I hope this record can be an homage to the blue-collar people who raised me and taught me how to work for what you want,” she explains. “There are so many queens out there pulling themselves up by their bootstraps and making their dreams come true. I’m honored to be one of them.”