They say good women rarely make history. Let’s just say that Miranda Lambert has made quite a bit of history during her country music career. The opening song of her new album Postcards from Texas is about a marijuana-smoking armadillo who kidnaps her at gunpoint and tells her to run from the police. At least, this story is presented as an alibi to explain where she was the previous night, with one inferring that the real reason is probably even more nefarious.

You won’t find many mainstream country albums that start like this, but this isn’t your typical mainstream country album. This is one of those albums that comes out at a time in an artist’s career when they know they’re out of big hits on the radio, the awards season is winding down, and it’s time to stop caring about the things that matter most – or, to put it more accurately, give a damn about them.

For Miranda, that means returning to her home state of Texas, bringing on her good friend and frequent co-writer Jon Randall as producer, and settling into Austin’s legendary but comparatively idyllic Arlyn Studios to make the album she wanted to make, not an album designed to meet other people’s expectations. Not that Miranda has been a puppet at any point in her career. But her priorities have definitely shifted.

Postcards from Texas is still a Miranda Lambert record. It’s certainly more country than anything she’s done in years, but aside from a few songs, it’s not particularly nasal. She still shows a lot of the attitude that’s her trademark. “Wranglers” finds her heating things up again, and the playful “Alimony” plays with The Alamo and recalls the sass of the early Pistol Annies. “Dammit Randy” has the kind of immediate resonance that makes you think it could become a country classic in a few years.

But perhaps some of the best moments of Postcards from Texas are moments where Miranda Lambert shows a little more vulnerability, something she has resisted at times throughout her career. The solo-written “Run” is arguably the best-written song on the album, and isn’t that always the case on these big mainstream releases? Here Miranda Lambert is pointing an ugly finger at herself, and one can’t help but wonder if this wasn’t written about her past with Blake Shelton (or Anderson East).

“Santa Fe” and “January Heart” give the album some sincere and tender moments between cheekiness and frivolity. Great songwriters like Dean Dillon and Brent Cobb bring these songs to life. The album has a lot of structure and variety. It doesn’t necessarily “sound” like Texas, but several songs are about the state. “Looking Back on Luckenbach” would have been better if it didn’t feel a bit too “in your face” and hadn’t already been done by Whitney Rose in 2017.

But one of the bigger problems with Postcards from Texas is the same problem that has plagued Miranda Lambert’s entire career. She doesn’t really have a distinctive sound that she has made her own. She has moved from country pop to a more traditional style of music, borrowing more from songs than lead songs. Her appreciation for first-rate songwriters and songs has never waned, but she usually has at least some commercial calculation in her recording choices.

Postcards from Texas Miranda Lambert expands her sound profile a bit, especially on the last few songs. Her cover of David Allan Coe’s “Living On The Run” is killer and a little reminiscent of Little Feet. “Wildfire,” written with Jack Ingram and Jon Randall, has perhaps the best country vibe on the record.

But we also know that Miranda Lambert is not a traditional country artist and has never presented herself as such. She is Miranda Lambert. And one could argue that Postcards from Texas is the best Miranda Lambert album she’s made in years, swear words and all. That’s who she is. And whether you enjoy the whole album or just fleeting moments limited to certain songs, it feels right to celebrate Miranda Lambert being herself.

1 3/4 weapons high (7.8/10)

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