“Middle Of Nowhere” (Lost Highway Records)
By Eleni P. Austin
“Did you ever love me Baby, I thought you did
from time to time, but here in Uncertain, Texas,
nobody ever makes up their mind, down here in
Uncertain, Texas, nobody ever makes up their dusty,
old, love-bombing, snake-charming, bullshittin,’
heartbreakin’ godforsaken, dumb-ass mind.”
That’s Kacey Musgraves looking for a little emotional recompence on “Uncertain, TX.” Even though it’s only been a couple of years since she delivered her last Grammy winning album, Deeper Well, she has now returned with her seventh long-player, Middle Of Nowhere.
The Golden, Texas native wrote her first song, “Notice Me,” at age nine. By middle school, she was playing guitar, mandolin and harmonica. She was still a pre-teen when she formed Texas Two Bits with Alina Tatum. The pair performed at George W. Bush’s Black Tie & Boots Inaugural Ball. Having won myriad yodeling contests, she was invited to perform at the 2002 Winter Olympics. Around the same time, she self-released two albums.
Fast-forward a few years and she earned her keep as one of Nashville’s most in-demand songwriters. She co-wrote “Mama’s Broken Heart,” which became a massive hit for Miranda Lambert. After she inked a deal with Mercury Nashville, her major label debut, Same Trailer, Different Park, arrived in 2013. Not only was the album met with unanimous critical acclaim, but it was also an instant success, debuting at #2 on the Billboard Top 200. Nominated for four Grammy Awards, she took home the prize for Best Country Album. Something of a rebel. Kacey radiated a different kind of cool. She shook up the Nashville status quo as an LGBTQ-inclusive feminist, who smoked pot and copped to writing a song on LSD. She managed to diversify the staid Country music establishment, ruffling a few feathers along the way.
The hits kept coming, Pageant Material was released in 2015, followed by A Very Kacey Christmas. But it was the next effort, Golden Hour, that exhibited crossover appeal. Sidelining traditional Country & Western, the record incorporated new flavors like Electropop, Disco, Yacht Rock and Electronica. Her sense of adventure came as no surprise to anyone who had been paying close attention. Kacey’s earliest influences included John Prine, Alison Krauss and Lee Ann Womack. As she broadened her horizons, she began to draw inspiration from disparate antecedents like Glen Campbell, Selena, The Bee Gees, Cher, Roger Miller, E.L.O., Bobbie Gentry, Weezer, Loretta Lynn, Charley Pride, Julie Miller, Jim Croce, Sade, Marty Robbins, Cake and Dolly Parton.
Even as she was swimming in accolades, her personal life was in disarray. 2021’s Star Crossed was a treatise on heartache and healing following her divorce from fellow singer-songwriter Rushton Kelly. Three years later she returned with her sixth effort, Deeper Well. This time out, she took another hard left, walking a tightrope between Folk-Rock and Soft Rock, echoing forerunners like The Byrds and Simon & Garfunkel.
The record flutters to life with the title-track. Sweetly-strummed acoustic guitars, pliant bass and a brushed beat frame the opening verse: “Out here on the edge of the world, way past common sense, past the Dairy Queen, the county line, where there ain’t any fences, gonna find my own peace.” This declaration of independence feels like a kissin’ Country cousin to Frank and Nancy Sinatra’s 1967 #1 hit, “Somethin’ Stupid.” But the arrangement, accented by lachrymose pedal steel colors, kicks over on the chorus, locking into a ¾ groove: “I wanna be somewhere in the middle of nowhere, I think maybe I’ll just stay here, don’t tell me you miss me, I don’t care, I’m in the middle of nowhere.” On the break, peeling pedal steel notes conjure up images of wide open spaces that allow for a cosmic reboot. The song’s final verse serves as the record’s recurring theme: “The thing that I love about the place I’m in, there’s no reckless men who don’t know what they want, trying to lean into the in-between, it’s just me and me, and that’s all I need.”
But freedom and autonomy come with at a cost and those repercussions are felt on a couple of tracks, “Loneliest Girl” and “Dry Spell.” The former is a cri de Coeur powered by shimmering pedal steel, prickly banjo, tangled electric and acoustic guitars, rubbery bass and a shuffle rhythm. The effervescent melody nearly camouflages perspicacious lyrics that weigh the opportunities and obstacles that accompany her solitary stance: “I don’t have to navigate nobody’s drama, I don’t have to to act like I like all your friends or your mama, I don’t have to take on your childhood trauma, I’m happy to be the loneliest girl in the world.” But to paraphrase Shakespeare, it feels as though she doth protest waaay too much. By the third verse, Kacey kinda-sorta acknowledges that her self-imposed exile is out of an abundance of caution: “I gotta be careful who I let in, I’m not sure I could stand my heart getting broken again, no more anything that’s taking my energy, if I’m only doing it for company, I’d rather be the loneliest girl in the world.” Happily, the sunshiny chorus buoys the lyrical malaise.
While the former honed in on matters of the heart, the latter addresses a more, um, pressing need. Guitars rumble and drawl, splitting the difference between Surf and Twang, anchored by thrumming bass and a thwocking beat. Utilizing the same sly wit and discretion (this kid knows her way around a euphemism), that the Seinfeld TV series mined for their epochal Contest episode. The song offers an incendiary, innuendo-filled take on onanism: “It’s been a real long three-hundred and thirty-five days, and the last one, it wasn’t good anyway, I’m so lonely, lonely with a capital H, if you know what I mean, I’ve been sitting on the washing machine.” On the break, courtly Spanish guitar ricochets between the twang and reverb. The hook-driven chorus deftly drives her point home: “Ain’t nobody’s tool up in my shed, ain’t nobody’s boots under my bed, ain’t nobody’s truck up in my drive, for a late night call, for a real good time, no new notches on my belt, and I’m tired of keeping my hands to myself, 911, it’s officially a cry for help, I’m going through a dry spell, yep. To characterize this track “banger,” feels like an overstatement, but that’s exactly what it is.
Kacey has been part of the Country Music firmament for nearly 20 years, which means she’s made some high-profile friends. A few pop up on this record. On “Everybody Wants To Be A Cowboy,” strumming acoustic licks, loping electric riffs, flinty bass, lonesome lap steel and a tambourine shake are tethered to a cantering gait. Bluegrass wunderkind Billy Strings drops in to see what condition her condition is in. Meanwhile, discerning lyrics speak to the Yellowstone-ification of America, as citified bourgeoisie seem to yearn for the wide-open spaces, without putting in the actual work: “It’s Friday night on the East Side, Country band at the bar, same ol’ shit on the weekend, everybody’s looking the part, I bet most of these boots have probably never seen any dirt, and the ground ain’t any softer if you’re wearing a rhinestone shirt.” Kacey and Billy’s vocals dovetail on the chorus which drills down on the entitlement of the poseur class: “Oh, everybody wants to be a cowgirl, ‘til it’s five in the morning and it’s cold as hell and the work ain’t gonna do itself, everybody wants to be a cowboy these days, until it’s time to stay, until it’s time to stay.” A sun-dappled guitar solo spirals on the break, softening lyrical the blows.
Surprisingly, Kacey and Miranda Lambert sorta kiss and make up on “Horses And Divorces.” Apparently, the source of their beef (which Kacey characterized as “grass-fed, Grade A,” in a recent interview with Chris Willman for Variety), occurred when she was talked into letting Miranda record “Mama’s Broken Heart” before she could. But their stand-off resolved in an organic fashion and the duo co-wrote the song together. The melody shares some musical DNA with Kenny Rogers’ first cross-over classic, “Lucille.” Wily acoustic, electric and nylon string guitars are wed to thrumming bass, swirly pedal steel and Conjunto-flavored accordion. A trap-kit beat is measured in ¾ time. Trading lines of the first verse, the pair agree that there’s two sides to every story, but their animus was real: “I’d ride in on my high horse, you’d still be higher, and a few years ago, you’d have set me on fire, there were chips on our shoulders, but now that we’re older, it’s all whiskey under the bridge.” Happily, alcohol and shared interests lubricate a détente: “…We’ve got a few things in common, like horses and divorces and we both like to drink, maybe we’re more alike than we think/I can’t believe we don’t share any exes, cause we both love cowboys and we’re both from Texas, and we both love Willie, but I mean really, what asshole doesn’t like Willie?” Like a cowpoke Lucy and Ethel, these two squabble ‘til they don’t, finding common ground along the way. Equal parts Honky-Tonk lament and South Of The Border charmer, the song is destined to become the drunken sing-along of the summer.
Speaking of Willie, the aforementioned “Uncertain, TX,” extends the Tex-Mex leitmotif and features the Red Headed Stranger on vocals and guitar. Tejano accordion dips and swivels, colliding with ringing guitars, sturdy upright bass, a percussive sonar pulse, and a clunky back-beat. Although it’s a real city, with a population below 100, it’s also a metaphor for Kacey’s current state of mind: “Here in Uncertain, Texas, I just don’t know anymore, you think you really somebody, then they up and walk right out the door, did you ever love me Baby, I thought you did from time to time, down here in Uncertain, Texas, nobody ever makes up their mind.” Willie chimes in on the second verse and his reedy vocals shadow Kacey’s tart diatribe: “It’s weird that such a tiny town would have such a large amount of cowboys that just can’t get off the fence, if you don’t know you’ve got it all, and your character is made of straw, you’re gonna blow away in the wind.” On the break, Willie’s trademark Trigger-ffic guitar licks thread through an aural tapestry of acoustic guitar and meandering accordion. The record is stacked with superlative tracks, but three stand out from the pack. If there was still such a thing as an AM Radio playlist, the Countrypolitan “Rhinestoned” could sandwich nicely between Linda’s “Love Is A Rose” and Dolly’s “Here You Come Again.” A propulsive back-beat anchors quicksilver pedal steel, quicksilver guitars, loose-limbed bass, warm Fender Rhodes notes and ethereal Celeste. The lyrics find Kacey taking a break from heartache, hoping for a bit of casual companionship: “No, it ain’t gonna hurt, slowing it, just a couple of nobodies getting lost and found, in the smoking lights, holding each other tight, not overthinking anything, just feeling alright…Baby, we don’t have to be alone, let’s get a little rhinestoned.” On the break, a willowy pedal steel solo is bookended by rumbling baritone guitar.
“Back On The Wagon” believes in second chances. Iridescent pedal steel fuses with wiry six-string bass, sinewy Stratocaster licks and a clip-clop beat. Kacey’s cagey vocals mirror her cautious optimism and assures (us) her drunken angel has fully embraced the Bill W. ethos: “He’s back on the wagon, he’s mine, you can’t have him, he’s caused so much pain, but this time he’s changed, so don’t try and have him, cause we’ve got big plans and no one understands him like me, you say he’ll fuck it up, but we’re so in love that ain’t gonna happen, he’s back on the wagon.” A pedal steel solo swoops and swoons on the break underscoring her false bravado.
Finally, the percolating “Abilene” is a blend of rippling banjo, spiky guitars, thready bass lines and a tip-toe beat. Lyrics offer up a nuanced narrative of an enigmatic woman blowing town: “All we could really ever do is speculate, what was in her head when she up and hit the interstate, guess the pills didn’t help, couldn’t kill the all the pain, and nothing good ever happens anyway, in Abilene.” Slippery guitars sidle through the break, but the lyrical conjecture remains sub rosa.
Other interesting songs include the spectral shiver of “I Believe In Ghosts,” the breezy “Mexico Honey” and the trickster’s lament, “Coyote.” The record ends on a quiet note with “Hell On Me.” Something of a restless farewell, the arrangement is bare-bones, just a bit of honeyed guitar and barbed pedal steel. Kacey tenderly attempts forgiveness, for her ex and herself: “I don’t hate you, tried to make you into someone you couldn’t be.” But she also sets the record straight: “You’ve got your version, of how it went down, and I’ve had some time to kinda-sorta sort it all out and I don’t want to blame you, but honestly, I tried to be angel, but you made it hell on me.” It’s a graceful finish to a great record.
Most of the songs here were co-written with Kacey’s longtime collaborators, Daniel Tashian, Ian Fitchuk, Luke Laird, and Shane McNally, along with Josh Osborne, Rick Nowels, Scotty Emerick, Steph Jones and Miranda Lambert. She also relied on a cadre of talented pickers and players including her co-writers, as well as Dan Dugmore, Todd Lombardo, Paul Franklin, Dennis Crouch, Gregory Alan Isakov, Shawn Everett, Fred Eltringham, Rob Burger and Russ Pahl.
Although Kacey’s always marched to the beat of a different drum, Middle Of Nowhere manages to distill the distaff energy of the women who paved the way. Trace elements of Loretta, Tammy, Bobbie Gentry, Linda, Dolly and Emmylou are embedded in the grooves. Her sound is rooted in tradition, but she’s also happy to let her Freak-Flag fly.
