When a song you’ve written achieves iconic status, like “Independence Day,” it embarks on a journey of its own, often diverging from your original intentions. The trajectory of this song and its impact on my life have been anything but predictable. Twenty-five years, marked by surreal encounters with figures like Sean Hannity and Sarah Palin, have made it feel less and less like my song. I hadn’t performed it live in at least two years, and even before that, appearances were sporadic. When I did play it, I opted for a slow, melancholic piano ballad rendition, far removed from its anthemic perception. Truthfully, the desire to perform it had waned for years. Retirement felt like the appropriate path, not out of shame or weariness, but because it seemed to have outgrown my ownership.
When a song becomes laden with cultural values based on a misinterpretation – it was never about American patriotism, but about a woman’s fight for survival and her child’s safety – it starts to feel… tainted. It feels as though words are being attributed to you that you never uttered. I’ve always expressed pride in writing the song, and that remains true. Yet, a part of me longed to distance myself from it. It was Zach Shultz who illuminated why I shouldn’t. His insightful essay on “Independence Day” acted as a compass, guiding me back to the core reasons for its creation. It rekindled my pride and restored my sense of ownership over “Independence Day.”
The realization that my song resonated deeply with a gay man in his 30s in New York City, inspiring him to write,
“Today I choose to revel in the message of Martina McBride’s song, to recognize the political intent of Gretchen Peters, and to reclaim “Independence Day” as a call to independence from patriarchy, from a culture that would tell a woman, or any other person for that matter, to stand by an abusive partner at all costs. I choose to celebrate Independence Day as a day to freely criticize the policies of my country as it tears children away from their parents and locks them in cages; I celebrate Independence Day for the strong women who have escaped the oppressive strictures of unhealthy marriages and are choosing better lives; I celebrate the crowds of protesters who resisted the fascism of the current administration in a march across the Brooklyn Bridge last weekend; I celebrate the courage of the #MeToo movement and the overdue cultural reckoning it is bringing; I celebrate the independence to wake up every day and be our authentic selves.”
fills me with profound wonder. The notion that something conceived in my Nashville bedroom when Zach Shultz was a toddler could possess such an extraordinary reach is humbling. Despite attempts to twist its meaning for various agendas, this particular song has proven more robust and resilient than I, or anyone, anticipated.
Songs possess a miraculous quality. They endure, accumulating layers of meaning over time, sometimes shedding them, too. Their devoted listeners sustain them, drawing courage, hope, and inspiration from their melodies and lyrics. And if a song holds true merit, it can withstand almost anything. I am deeply indebted to Zach for his poignant piece. I am going to start playing my song again. I urge you to truly listen to the words.
