A Defiant Hymn for the Outsider — A Song That Turned Pain into Power
When “The Joke” was released in 2017, it did not arrive with the bombast of a pop anthem. Instead, it came like a slow-burning confession—quiet at first, then rising into something almost spiritual. Written and recorded by Brandi Carlile for her sixth studio album, By the Way, I Forgive You (2018), the song would go on to become one of the most defining moments of her career. Though it did not storm the upper reaches of the mainstream pop charts, it reached No. 1 on Billboard’s Adult Alternative Songs chart and earned remarkable critical acclaim. Most notably, it won two Grammy Awards in 2019: Best American Roots Song and Best American Roots Performance, while also receiving nominations for Record of the Year and Song of the Year.
But chart positions and trophies tell only part of the story.
“The Joke” was born in a turbulent cultural moment. In interviews, Brandi Carlile has spoken about writing the song for people who feel marginalized, mocked, or dismissed—especially young people navigating identity and belonging in a divided world. The lyric, “Let ’em laugh while they can,” is not simply defiant; it is prophetic. The “joke” is not on the vulnerable—it is on those who underestimate them.
Musically, the track is a masterclass in restraint and release. Produced by Dave Cobb and Shooter Jennings, it begins with a sparse piano figure and Carlile’s voice—clear, aching, and intimate. There is a timeless quality to her delivery, reminiscent of the emotional gravity once carried by singers like Linda Ronstadt and Joni Mitchell, yet distinctly her own. As the song builds, subtle percussion and layered instrumentation swell into a near-orchestral crescendo. When Carlile unleashes the final chorus, her voice soars with a rawness that feels both fragile and unbreakable.
The arrangement mirrors the song’s emotional arc. It starts in solitude—almost whispered—then rises into communal affirmation. That gradual build is crucial. It gives the listener time to reflect, to remember, to connect their own private wounds to the larger promise embedded in the refrain. The power of “The Joke” is not in anger; it is in endurance.
The album By the Way, I Forgive You marked a turning point for Brandi Carlile. Although she had long been respected in Americana and folk circles, this record expanded her audience dramatically. The success of the album—debuting at No. 5 on the Billboard 200—cemented her status as not merely a singer-songwriter, but as a generational voice in American roots music. For many listeners who had followed her since earlier works like The Story, this felt like a long-awaited recognition.
There is also something strikingly classic about “The Joke.” It belongs to a lineage of great American protest-adjacent ballads, yet it avoids slogans. Instead of naming adversaries, it speaks directly to the wounded heart. It does not preach; it consoles. In that way, it recalls the emotional directness of songs from the 1970s—songs that were deeply personal but resonated universally.
Carlile herself has said that she wrote the song thinking of children who felt bullied or unseen. But its reach extends far beyond adolescence. Anyone who has endured dismissal, who has been underestimated, who has waited patiently for the world to understand them—will find something quietly revolutionary in this song.
And perhaps that is why it lingers.
In an era of disposable singles and streaming churn, “The Joke” feels built to last. It demands to be played in full. It asks the listener to sit still and allow the swell to arrive. It trusts in patience. That patience is rewarded with catharsis.
There are songs that entertain. There are songs that comfort. And then there are songs that remind you that dignity cannot be mocked out of existence. Brandi Carlile gave us one of those rare songs—a modern standard disguised as a ballad.
Listen closely to the final refrain. The laughter fades. The promise remains.