20th Anniversary of Her Debut Album, Kelly Clarkson Stays on Top by Being True to Herself

Given Kelly Clarkson’s ubiquity within pop culture — host of a highly rated daytime TV talk show, mentoring hopeful singers on a nationally televised competition or hawking Wayfair — it’s startling to realize how close none of it came to happening at all.

The enduring success of someone winning a reality TV contest, which was a novelty two decades ago, was far from guaranteed. As the Fort Worth native, who was crowned the first winner of American Idol in 2002 and released her major label debut and first studio album, Thankful, in 2003, she found herself staring into the teeth of a merciless and mercenary music business.

Her firm determination in the face of that industry — which frequently gives fresh faces every opportunity to turn themselves inside out, chasing whatever the trend of the moment might be — has landed her atop the pop cultural landscape 20 years later.

Shakespeare said it centuries ago, but the maxim is as applicable now as it was then: To thine own self be true.

As Clarkson herself would likely tell you, she’s accomplished all that she has to date — more than 25 million albums and 45 million singles sold worldwide, 11 Top 10 singles in the U.S. and three Grammy Awards — despite, not because of, record label leadership.

April 25 marks the 20th anniversary of Thankful. To listen to its dozen tracks in 2023 is to be reminded that when it comes to singing-focused TV battles, it’s still difficult to make a debut that sounds like much more than micromanaged product.

That said, such was the clout of American Idol and its ilk in the early 2000s that quality was often a happy byproduct, not necessarily the project’s intended goal.

Indeed, looking back at the statistics is to be reminded of Idol’s more formidable days. Clarkson’s debut has been outstripped by exactly two other American Idol alums — Carrie Underwood, whose 2005 debut, Some Hearts, sold an estimated 8.6 million copies, and Chris Daughtry’s self-titled 2006 debut, which moved over 5 million copies, to Clarkson and Thankful’s 2.8 million copies.

Cumulatively, those three — Underwood, Clarkson and Daughtry — represent the apex of Idol’s commercial success, as well as the formidable grip the televised singing competition industry had on the charts in the early aughts.

Especially in the music business, roaring out of the gate does not always translate into longevity, which is where Underwood and Clarkson transcend Daughtry. They’ve both built brands based more on their own skills than by any association with American Idol.

Now, with singing contests so prevalent, the impact has been all but diluted, as much by a public now effectively numb to the concept as an industry splintered by technological advances and a reliance upon apps to cough up the next superstar.

In light of all that, it’s remarkable to revisit Thankful and be impressed by not only by how well it holds up, but how it illuminates the path Clarkson would spend the next two decades walking.

Clarkson does occasionally transcend the strictures of commercial expectation on Thankful, especially on the opening track, “The Trouble with Love Is” (which many listeners may know better from its placement in the 2003 rom-com Love Actually).

The song, co-written by Clarkson (who had a hand in writing four of the album’s 12 tracks), showcases her incredible range and control. It’s also heavily indebted to R&B, as so much of early-aughts pop was. That sultry-soulful-smoky mode is one that suits Clarkson’s dynamic voice well, as heard on Thankful’s breakout single “Miss Independent,” moving as it does from an intimate purr in its verses to a full-throated, multi-octave roar in its chorus.

The album debuted at No. 1 on the Billboard 200 (and earned Clarkson a Grammy nomination for best female pop vocal performance). It eventually went double-platinum, thanks in large part to the bond she forged with fans, a bond that continues to propel her to this day.

But it’s the personality — the newly minted pop star — underneath these songs that has endured and enriched the material, and it was evident even then. Although we’re listening now in hindsight, Thankful plays less like a gamble than a confirmation. Even as her career exploded and she found herself in mononym territory — a rare privilege in the pop world — that dedication of her fanbase allowed her to weather the mid-2010s battles with RCA Records and Clive Davis, particularly around 2007’s My December, arguably the most contentious of her releases.

Davis and Clarkson famously tangled over the singer’s third album. Davis alleged Clarkson refused to make tweaks to December, which would have, in his estimation, made it more successful.

The acrimony between the two came to a head in 2013, when Davis released his memoir and Clarkson released a statement online, which read, in part, “I refused to be bullied ... Growing up is awesome because you learn you don’t have to cower to anyone — even Clive Davis.”

By then few could credibly claim surprise at Clarkson clapping back at one of the more powerful people in the music business. She’d shown from the earliest moments just who she was.

By being resolutely herself, especially in an industry that often dangles every incentive to embrace that which you are not, Clarkson built a brand upon unvarnished truth and a willingness to embrace thorny, messy topics, such as eating disorders, anxiety or her imploding marriage, which humanized the pop gloss.

Thankful is a first step in that direction, a then-fledgling artist singing with feeling — albeit somewhat airbrushed and neatly packaged — about difficult subject matter: “What’s up, lonely?/Seems you’re my only friend who wants to share my pain,” Clarkson sings on “What’s Up Lonely.”

There is a quiet steeliness in Clarkson’s conviction, an unshakable sense of knowing herself before the bright lights and big opportunities ever came calling, which, in hindsight, makes it seem foolish to doubt the Texas singer-songwriter would ever come out anywhere other than where she’s found herself — on top.