She’s as gifted as ever at Nashville songcraft — and underneath the pastel-pink hues and prom-queen problems, there’s newfound emotional complexity
In a few short years, Megan Moroney went from upstart influencer to arena headliner. Since her breakthrough moment — “Tennessee Orange,” about putting aside college- football loyalty for a new love interest — hits like “I’m Not Pretty” and “Am I Okay?” have turned her into one of the most of-the-moment voices in country music, adored by both Olivia Rodrigo and Kenny Chesney.
Moroney’s third album should transform the Georgia singer-songwriter from star-in-the-making to plain old megastar. If anyone needs convincing, the featured artists alone — Ed Sheeran, Kacey Musgraves — highlight the degree to which the music industry is ready to anoint the 28-year-old poet of Gen Z heartbreak (and recent Rolling Stone cover star) as the Next Big Thing.
Given that hype, what’s striking about Cloud 9 is how little it strays from her past approach: Music Row songcraft dressed up with Gen Z internet speak, set to muscular pop rock (this is likely the first major-label country album to use the word “cosplay”). And even if the artists she namechecks (Al Green, Charlie Daniels, Etta James) are from her father’s record collection, heartbreak, in Moroney’s universe, is processed less with tears-in-your-beer remorse and more with groans-at-iPhone disaffection.
But what sets Cloud 9 apart from its predecessors is that, underneath the pastel-pink hues and prom-queen problems that define it, there’s newfound emotional complexity. “Liars & Tigers & Bears” is an alarming catalog of the demands aspiring pop stars contend with; “Change of Heart” is a pop-punk earworm about someone who blames themself for their bad romantic decisions.
Then there’s “Bells & Whistles,” a country waltz with Musgraves. The song’s told from the perspective of a lady having an affair with a man in a relationship, and it describes the faithful woman being cheated on from the mistress’s perspective. “She’s like me without the bells and the whistles,” Moroney sings. But in the last line, she changes the song’s meaning entirely by revealing the protagonist’s own self-loathing: “I’m not me without the bells and the whistles.”It’s an unexpected moment, and more proof that Moroney is often a deft and surprising storyteller. “Stone-cold killers have guns,” as she puts it a few songs later. “But I’ve got songs.”
