Beyoncé's Cowboy Carter: The verdict - is it Yeehaw or No Ma'am?

When Beyoncé turned up to the Grammys in a cowboy hat, we should have known that something was afoot.

A week later, she officially announced her country era - dropping two surprise singles in the middle of the Super Bowl.

One of them, the banjo-riffic Texas Hold 'Em, became the star's biggest hit in years. In the UK, it was number one for four weeks - her longest-ever spell at the top.

Nashville reacted with a shrug. Country radio only gave the song modest airplay, even as millions of streams propelled it to the top of Billboard's country chart.

This was pretty much what Beyoncé expected.

As a Texan, country music is her birth right but, in an Instagram post last week, she wrote that her new album, Cowboy Carter, was "born out of an experience that I had years ago where I did not feel welcomed".

This was likely a reference to her appearance at the 2016 Country Music Awards, where she performed her song Daddy Lessons with The Chicks (then known as the Dixie Chicks).

Both performers were deemed unwelcome - The Chicks had faced a backlash in the US after criticising former President George W Bush during the Iraq War; while Beyoncé's vocal of Black Lives Matter had upset many on the American right.

Their performance faced a barrage of criticism - and racism - online. Natalie Maines, lead singer of The Chicks, later told the New York Times that the way Beyoncé was treated after the show was "disgusting."

In her Instagram post, Beyoncé said the experience prompted her to take "a deeper dive into the history of country".

But, she warned: "This ain't a country album. This is a Beyoncé album."

Too right, it is.

Over 27 interlocking songs and interludes, Cowboy Carter throws a lasso around country's sonic signifiers, and spins them into something unique: Appalachian fiddles are spliced with pop melodies, and lap steel guitars underscore rap verses with speaker-crushing sub bass.

That the genres overlap so seamlessly is evidence of Beyoncé's technical mastery, but also of her central thesis: That Nashville's marginalisation of outsiders, and black women in particular, weakens the music in the long run.

To emphasise the point, Beyoncé enlists a host of artists who've straddled the worlds of pop and country, including Dolly Parton, Willy Nelson, Miley Cyrus and Post Malone.

And in one interlude, she juxtaposes the African-American spirituals that inspired country music (the pacifist anthem Down By The Riverside) with swing fiddle tunes that inspired black pioneers of rock and roll (Chuck Berry's Maybellene, based on the traditional American song Ida Red).

"Genres are a funny little concept, aren't they?" asks Linda Martell, the first black woman to perform at the Grand Ole Opry, on a track called Spaghetti.

"In theory, they have a simple definition that's easy to understand. But in practice, well, some may feel confined."

If this all sounds dry and academic, don't be put off. Cowboy Carter is a blast, with hooky, memorable songs that are theatrical, mournful, playful, lovestruck, whimsical and carnal - often at the same time.

It opens with an acknowledgement that Beyoncé's recent albums have become socio-political talking points, while asking fans to drown out the chatter.

"There's a lot of talking going on, while I sing my song," she sings over a psychedelic wash of sitar. "Can you hear me? Do you hear me."

The dramatic opener segues into a faithful cover of The Beatles' Blackbird - chosen not just for its timeless melody, but for its inspiration: A group of nine black students, known as the Little Rock Nine, who faced discrimination after enrolling in an all-white high school in Arkansas, 1957.

It's never stated explicitly, but the parallels between their struggle and the segregation of country music are duly noted.

Elsewhere, Protector is a gentle, touching ode to motherhood, introduced by a voice note of Beyoncé's daughter Rumi pleading, "Mum can I hear the lullaby please":[]}