When Golden Hour (2018) came out, I was in high school. I remember listening to it in my car driving home from school and realizing that it was going to be with me for the rest of my life. I had been a Kacey fan before; I appreciated her flippant, proud tone in songs like “Dime Store Cowgirl” and her clever writing, especially on “Merry Go ‘Round.” She was headstrong in her beliefs, going against the grain, Texan to the core. I thought I had her anti-country-country sound pretty much figured out.
Golden Hour defied all expectations, embellished and reframed the best parts of her music into something entirely new. It was a pop record, essentially, but Kacey’s signature tone—in both a vocal and a writing sense—imbued her every word with a compelling sincerity. That tone allowed her to explore themes more typical of country music while maintaining credibility as a pop artist. It was a record about being so in love it hurts, love that feels too big to hold. My favorite lyric from “Butterflies,” featured on this playlist, is:
Now I remember what it feels like to fly
You give me butterflies
That year, Kacey Musgraves became a household name. She played iconic festival sets and won a Grammy. If she had been niche before, she was now everyone’s favorite country artist, a woman with a big heart on her sleeve asking the world to celebrate love with her. Golden Hour is vulnerable, ardent.
That’s why it came as such a surprise when, in late summer of last year, she announced star-crossed (2021). She posted a track list with scathing titles like “good wife” and “breadwinner.” Stories came out in every checkout-line magazine: Kacey Musgraves was divorced. I remember feeling extremely unwell over this news; if the Golden Hour kind of love wasn’t real, was there anything to live for?
But she came back better than ever. star-crossed is perhaps one of the most dramatic turns I’ve ever seen an artist take over the course of a single album cycle that maintained such high quality record to record. She didn’t skirt around the divorce in her writing or approach it with any sort of shame. Immediately after its release, she performed one of the singles on SNL entirely nude except for a pair of cowboy boots. She wasn’t wallowing, or if she was, she did it with her head held high. She made a triumphant return to the music scene following what seems like an incredibly difficult time in her life.
I saw her live last night. It’s been a long time since I was at an arena show, so my expectations were perhaps skewed to indie standards, but she put on a production. There were pyrotechnics, confetti cannons, graphic screens up to the ceiling. She had at least eight musicians onstage with her, one of whom had enough stage presence to play the pedal steel in an arena and absolutely steal the show. My jaw just kept hitting the floor—another laser show started lighting up the room, a disco ball dropped out of the ceiling, Kacey shot (presumably fake) money at the pit out of a little gun. Beyond all that, she also displayed incredible musicianship throughout the show, hitting every single note while running around the stage being wildly charming. It was one of the best shows I’ve seen.
This playlist is a bit unhinged, in a fun way. I made it in 2017, when I was still collecting songs with a lot of sonic deviation and throwing them together with little regard for overall cohesion. That being said, it’s straight bangers. It features one of the best songs off of Melodrama (2017) directly into the Paul Simon song that inspired that record: “Graceland.”
“Graceland” holds many special places in my heart. I am a firm believer in Paul Simon supremacy—Art Garfunkel is mid, I’m sorry—and Graceland (1986) was one of the first records I really fell in love with of my own volition as a teenager. It’s soundtracked many important moments in my life, serendipitously. It also features one of the most devastating verses of all time:
And she said, "Losing love
Is like a window in your heart
Everybody sees you're blown apart
Everybody sees the wind blow"
Recently, I’ve been really overwhelmed by how good music is. I haven’t been listening very many new releases; instead I’ve allowed myself to sink into past favorites. I’m feeling very immersed in the joy of rediscovery.
First it was Shania Twain, triggered by the sonic similarities between the new Tomberlin song “idkwntht” and her 1997 hit “You’re Still the One.” “Man! I Feel Like a Woman!” was one of the first songs I ever purchased on iTunes to play on my emerald green iPod nano (image inserted for historical accuracy, as I did in fact also own “I Gotta Feeling” by the Black Eyed Peas).
Then later in the week I became obsessed with Sheryl Crow, who I wrote about for last week’s issue. She rocketed to my most-listened-to artist this month, but Big Thief’s new album is going to give her a run for her money. Days out from the intense period of Sheryl Crow fanaticism I experienced, I still feel pleasantly towards her discography, but it’s as if the itch has been scratched.
Now, I’m onto “Desperado” by the Eagles. I don’t think the Eagles are very good at all generally, but “Desperado” is a song to end all songs:
Desperado
Oh, you ain't getting no younger
Your pain and your hunger
They're driving you home
And freedom, oh, freedom
Well that's just some people talking
Your prison is walking through this world all alone
There’s nothing like a good piano ballad. I’ve also recently been listening to “New York State of Mind” and “Tiny Dancer” on repeat, waltzing with no one through my apartment. I’m embracing the drama, loudly proclaiming my appreciation for everything good. I’m in my earnest era, and I’m loving it.
That show sounds like it was fantastic! I'm well past ready for my part of the world to open back up...