For years, the name Kacey Musgraves floated in my periphery, a pop-country artist I admittedly never quite clicked with. Confession time: despite her five albums, I hadn’t dedicated the time to truly listen and form a genuine opinion. My perception remained a vague, uninformed notion – until recently.
My immersion began unexpectedly, sparked by my participation in a monthly online music discussion group. Each month, a member selects an album, spanning genres and eras, for us to delve into. As a self-proclaimed music obsessive, I cherish these deep dives, the opportunity to explore unfamiliar musical landscapes before sharing thoughts with fellow enthusiasts.
Last year, Adrianne Lenker’s 2020 album, Songs, was our focus, chosen by fellow Substack writer Stanley C. of If Ever You’re Listening. While familiar with Lenker’s work in Big Thief, her solo material was new territory. Songs proved to be a slow burn, a collection of contemplative, melancholic, and subtly hypnotic pieces. It wasn’t background music; it demanded engagement. Like many albums that have become personal favorites, Songs required commitment, a willingness to surrender to its quiet intensity. Once I did, I found myself deeply moved by its emotional core.
This kind of dedicated listening feels increasingly rare today. In an era of streaming abundance, where nearly all recorded music is instantly accessible, carving out time for repeated, attentive listens to a new album is a luxury. Perhaps some prioritize this, plumbing the depths of new releases multiple times within weeks. However, in our current musical landscape, it’s a practice that often falls by the wayside.
This shift in music consumption – the “all-you-can-eat-ification” of music – is a topic for another time. It’s a tangent I’m consciously resisting, promising to explore it more fully in a future piece. (Your thoughts on this are welcome in the comments!)
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My commitment to showing up prepared for our album discussions pushes me to articulate my feelings and opinions not only on the selected record but also on the artist’s broader discography. So, when Terry Barr from the excellent Substack Dig It! chose Kacey Musgraves’ latest album, Deeper Well, for our April meeting, my initial reaction was… a groan. My aforementioned biases resurfaced, fluttering like startled birds (the avian imagery here, unintentionally foreshadowing). After this brief internal resistance, I took a breath, leashed up my dog Bernie, and cued up Deeper Well for its inaugural spin during our walk.
The opening track, “Cardinal,” delivered an immediate and powerful wave of nostalgia. Sonically, it evoked the iconic soundscapes of Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours. The exquisite acoustic guitar melody resonated with a distinct Lindsey Buckingham essence, with a touch of The Byrds’ jangle, while Musgraves’ smooth vocal delivery immediately brought Christine McVie to mind.
This lush, mature sound was entirely unexpected, and as a devoted fan of precisely that sonic territory, it was a delightful revelation.
Lyrically, “Cardinal” centers on the narrator’s observation of a cardinal perched on a branch, prompting contemplation about whether the bird serves as a messenger from a recently deceased friend. The song resonated deeply, arriving shortly after the loss of a close friend, a grief I was actively navigating.
Musgraves’ lyrical approach is refreshingly direct and simple. She eschews elaborate metaphors, opting for poignant clarity.
I saw a sign or an omen
On the branches in the mornin’
It was right after I
Lost a friend without warningWords unsaid
Scarlet-redCardinal
Are you bringing me a message from the other side?
Cardinal
Are you telling me I’m on somebody’s mind?
Don’t leave me behind
The concept of birds as messengers is ancient, woven into the fabric of human history and mythology. Yet, in “Cardinal,” this timeless symbolism struck a profound chord. Birds, in their very nature, encourage us to look upwards, to contemplate the vastness of the sky, to remain receptive to the mysteries that lie beyond our immediate understanding.
When my sister passed away five years ago, it wasn’t until three years later that she first appeared in my dreams. Lisa held a firm belief in the afterlife, in spirits, and in the possibility of communicating with those who had passed. I recall a holiday visit years ago, walking in on her and my mom engrossed in psychic John Edward’s daytime TV show, “Crossing Over.”
My skeptical nature immediately kicked in, and I couldn’t resist pointing out the manipulative techniques Edward employed. I explained how audience members filled out questionnaires beforehand, providing the very information Edward seemingly divined from “the other side.”
My commentary was met with swift expulsion from the house – a request I happily obliged.
In retrospect, I recognize that my criticism wasn’t solely directed at John Edward and his show. It was, perhaps unfairly, aimed at my mom and sister, dismissing something that brought them comfort and a sense of peace in the face of death’s daunting mystery. Who was I to invalidate their source of solace? And, truthfully, what did I truly know about such matters?
As a natural skeptic, embracing new perspectives requires time and introspection. I aspire to be an open-minded skeptic, willing to consider alternative viewpoints before firmly aligning with any single belief. A healthy dose of skepticism, I believe, is crucial for navigating a world where vulnerability can be exploited.
While I remain wary of “psychics” like Edward, perceiving them as potentially preying on genuine grief, I also acknowledge the possibility of individuals accessing realms beyond ordinary perception.
The dream realm, however, is a readily accessible otherworldly space. After my grandparents, Muriel and Alan, passed away in my twenties, they were frequent visitors in my dreams. These dreams were so vivid, so tangibly real, that waking up often required a disorienting period of readjustment, a reminder of their absence in the waking world.
My relationship with my sister was complex, marked by unspoken emotions and unresolved questions. This complexity, I believe, initially hindered my ability to connect with her in dreams. It was through writing about her, through exploring our shared history and confronting the unanswered questions on the page, that I began to bridge that gap. This process of written exploration unlocked not only a connection to my sister but also deeper layers within myself. Subsequently, dreams of Lisa became frequent.
Now, Lisa appears in my dreams regularly, retaining her characteristic emotional reserve, yet our dream encounters are always filled with a sense of joyful exploration across ethereal landscapes. She is, in these dream journeys, a wonderful guide.
Kacey Musgraves performing at the Palace Theatre St. Paul, bathed in soft stage lighting.
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The remainder of Kacey Musgraves’ Deeper Well unfolded more gradually than the immediate impact of “Cardinal Song.” The subsequent five tracks adopted a more subdued, folky tone, initially blending together. However, the album re-captured my focused attention with the tenderly comforting “Heart of the Woods.”
Musgraves beautifully captures the multifaceted stages of burgeoning love, from initial excitement and tentative hope to the quiet contentment of simply being present in the moment. “Heart of the Woods” embodies this latter stage, its earworm chorus repeating the reassuring lines:
It’s in our nature to look out for each other
In the hеart of the woods
When therе is danger, we’ll take care of each other
In the heart of the woods
Similar to “Cardinal,” “Heart of the Woods” draws inspiration from nature, not as a metaphorical construct but as a direct observation of nature’s inherent interconnectedness and self-sustaining systems. The opening verse illustrates this:
Under the ground, there’s a neighborhood that can’t be seen
Communicating through the roots of the trees
And up in the trees, there are voices that are echoing
A million different languages, songs we sing
Intriguingly, this is the song’s only verse, contained within its concise two-minute runtime. The return of birds, their voices echoing songs and languages in the trees, resonates deeply. This echoes the central theme of “Cardinal” and, indeed, appears as a recurring motif throughout the entire Deeper Well album.
In the week leading up to our online discussion, I listened to Deeper Well in its entirety a dozen times. Each listen unveiled new layers of depth, with different songs rising to prominence with each play. Even tracks two through six, initially less impactful, gradually revealed their subtle charms.
What resonates most about Deeper Well is its unhurried pace. Even shorter tracks like “Heart of the Woods” never feel rushed. Musgraves’ songwriting process for this album clearly stemmed from a place of introspection and self-discovery, and this sense of wise curiosity proves contagious.
The cliché “take the time to smell the roses” feels particularly apt here.
Perhaps Kacey Musgraves, with her lyrical sensibility, might rephrase it as: “Take the time to look and listen to the birds in the trees,” a message I am personally embracing. On my walks with Bernie, I’ll be listening more attentively, seeking out the songs of my ancestors and the melodies of recently departed loved ones carried on the breeze, perhaps even in the poignant beauty of a cardinal song.
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- Have you experienced Kacey Musgraves’ Deeper Well album yet? What are your impressions?
- Do you find messages in nature, perhaps from birds or other animals?
- Have you felt a connection with departed loved ones? How do those connections manifest?
Cheers, Steve
