On Middle of Nowhere, Kacey Musgraves doesn’t so much return to her roots as redraw the map entirely — one where solitude isn’t a pit stop between relationships but the destination itself. Written in the aftermath of a breakup and shaped by long stretches of intentional aloneness, her seventh LP and debut for Lost Highway finds her toggling between self-sufficiency, mischief and the occasional bout of well-earned chaos.
The opening title track sets the tone within seconds: sunlit acoustic strums, a low-end thump and Musgraves calmly declaring, “It’s just me and me and that’s all I need.” It’s both a mission statement and, as the record unfolds, a thesis she keeps testing. Because even in the wide-open emotional space she’s carved out, desire — and contradiction — creep in quickly.
Take “Dry Spell,” an LOL highlight that doubles as a 911 call for physical affection after “335 days” without it. The song revels in the double entendres and deadpan punchlines at which Musgraves has long excelled, delivered over a Western-tinged groove where you can practically hear the tumbleweeds (of romance) rolling by. That tension between independence and impulse runs deep: the woozy “Back on the Wagon” spins a possibly delusional yarn about a reformed drunken ex, while the four-to-the-floor “Loneliest Girl” insists everything’s fine just a little too convincingly. Still, Musgraves makes a strong case that rolling solo will always beat the wrong kind of company.
Musically, Middle of Nowhere leans into traditions shaped in small-town Texas dancehalls (pedal steel, Norteño accordion and other border-blurring textures) but rarely plays it straight. “Abilene” is a campfire tale with an effective twist, while “Everybody Wants To Be a Cowboy” pairs its barroom observations with a quietly pointed thesis about commitment in both love and life. Elsewhere, “Rhinestoned” gets giddy and high on a soft-focus, “Jive Talkin’”-style groove, and the nearly rapped verses of “Mexico Honey” swerve into something much more loose and horny.
The guest spots offer both texture and star power. Miranda Lambert shows up for the amusing “Horses and Divorces,” a natural pairing of two artists who’ve long thrived just outside Nashville orthodoxy (and who once had “grass-fed, grade-A” beef between them), while 93-year-old Willie Nelson drifts through “Uncertain, TX” like a knowing ghost (bonus: hearing him utter the priceless bon mot “dumb ass”).
Closer “Hell on Me” strips everything back to Musgraves’ beautiful voice, guitar and regret, landing on a note of quiet clarity rather than resolution. That’s the trick of Middle of Nowhere: it never rushes to define what comes next. Instead, Musgraves lingers in the in-between, finding humor, heartbreak and a surprising amount of peace along the way.
