A Contemporary Folk Voice Reclaims a Patriotic Hymn for a Divided Nation
When Brandi Carlile stepped onto the field to sing “America the Beautiful” at Super Bowl LVIII on February 11, 2024, she did far more than deliver a ceremonial pregame performance. She brought a century-old hymn into the emotional present, reminding millions of listeners that patriotism, at its best, is reflective, humble, and deeply human. Broadcast live from Allegiant Stadium in Las Vegas, her rendition unfolded before one of the largest television audiences of the year—an event traditionally dominated by spectacle, yet momentarily stilled by a solitary voice and a timeless melody.
It is important to note at the outset that “America the Beautiful” is not a charting single in the conventional sense. Written as a poem by Katharine Lee Bates in 1893 and later set to music composed by Samuel A. Ward, the hymn predates the modern Billboard era. It has no original “chart position” tied to its first publication. Over the decades, however, various recorded versions—most famously by Ray Charles (1972) and Elvis Presley (1976)—have appeared on album charts, though the song itself has always functioned less as a commercial single and more as a cultural touchstone. Carlile’s performance, likewise, was not released as a standalone charting single upon debut; its significance lies in the cultural moment rather than in numerical rankings.
By the time of this performance, Brandi Carlile was already a three-time Grammy Award winner, known for albums such as “By the Way, I Forgive You” (2018) and “In These Silent Days” (2021). She had built her reputation on emotional transparency, literary songwriting, and a voice that can move from a whisper to a cry without losing its center. Choosing her to perform “America the Beautiful” signaled something subtle but meaningful: a desire for sincerity over bombast.
The story behind the hymn itself adds weight to the occasion. Katharine Lee Bates wrote the poem after a trip to Pikes Peak in Colorado, moved by the vast American landscape. Her verses were not triumphalist; they were aspirational. Lines such as “God mend thine every flaw” and “Confirm thy soul in self-control” are less declarations of superiority and more prayers for moral improvement. In other words, the song is about becoming, not boasting. Carlile seemed to understand this intuitively.
Her arrangement at Super Bowl LVIII was restrained, leaning into folk textures rather than orchestral grandeur. There was a quiet gravity in her phrasing. She did not rush the melody. She allowed space between lines, as if inviting listeners to consider each word anew. In an arena designed for noise, she created stillness. That, in itself, felt radical.
For those who have followed the tradition of Super Bowl patriotic performances—from Whitney Houston’s legendary “The Star-Spangled Banner” in 1991 to Ray Charles’s soulful “America the Beautiful” at WrestleMania 2 decades earlier—Carlile’s rendition stands apart for its introspective tone. It did not seek to overwhelm; it sought to connect. Her voice carried both strength and vulnerability, qualities that have defined her career.
The meaning of “America the Beautiful” has always evolved with the times. During wars, it has sounded like hope. During unrest, like a plea. In moments of celebration, like gratitude. In Carlile’s hands, it felt like a reminder that love of country can coexist with a longing for it to be better. That duality—pride intertwined with conscience—gave the performance its emotional depth.
There was also something quietly moving about hearing a contemporary folk artist, rooted in storytelling traditions, take ownership of a hymn that has often been interpreted through grand, almost operatic voices. Carlile’s approach suggested that patriotism is not only about spectacle; it can also be intimate, almost private, even when shared with millions.
In the days that followed, clips of the performance circulated widely across social media platforms. Commentators praised its authenticity and emotional clarity. It did not dominate charts or spawn a commercial campaign. Instead, it lingered in memory—the way certain performances do—less as an event and more as a feeling.
For many listeners, the moment recalled earlier times when national songs carried layered meanings—when melodies heard at public gatherings stirred personal memories. Carlile did not reinvent “America the Beautiful.” She returned it to its essence: a prayer set to music, sung plainly, asking a nation to live up to its highest ideals.
And perhaps that is why the performance resonated so deeply. In a world often saturated with noise, spectacle, and instant reaction, Brandi Carlile’s voice offered something enduring—an echo of shared history, and a gentle insistence that the song’s hopeful words still matter.