SENSE MEMORY IS POWERFUL. MIRANDA LAMBERT
just got a big whiff of her acoustic guitar and
now finds herself waxing nostalgic. “My guitar
tech just brought it to me on my bus,” says the
Texas native, nestled in the greenroom of the
famed Exit/In nightclub in Nashville, where
she’ll soon perform an intimate industry
showcase for her new album, Wildcard. Since
graduating to arenas years ago, the winningest
artist in ACM awards history relishes the idea
of playing the small-cap room with her six-
string. “It smelled like smoke and beer,” she
says with the beatific smile of someone recall-
ing her early days. “It smelled like a bar. I got
so excited. I was like, ‘God, this is awesome!’ ”
Following a rare break from the road, Lam-
bert has roared back for her Roadside Bars
& Pink Guitars tour—featuring an array of
female opening acts, including Maren Morris
and Ashley McBryde (see sidebar)—and can’t
wait for fans to hear the expansive, and decid-
edly rocking, Wildcard, out Nov. 1.
“I wasn’t touring for eight months,” she says,
still sounding slightly bewildered by the notion.
“Since I was 17—I’m 35—I’ve never had more
than three months off tour. I think my manage-
ment tricked me into it. But I needed a break.”
Particularly since she’d worked steadily in the
wake of her divorce from Blake Shelton, right
through the promotional cycle for her
acclaimed 2016 double album, The Weight of
These Wings. “I came out of that whole phase of
life—having to work through it publicly, liter-
ally work through it emotionally, and work
through it by playing shows—and I felt like I
was in a pretty good spot, but [I realized], ‘You need to give yourself a minute.’ ”
It’s worth noting that “break” clearly has a different definition for Lam-
bert—who, during some of her time “off,” released the stellar 2018 Interstate
Gospel with her supergroup Pistol Annies, performed several shows, worked
her two side hustles (the charity MuttNation Foundations and fashion busi-
ness Idllywind), wrote and recorded Wildcard, and, oh yeah, got married to
New York City police officer Brendan McLoughlin. “I don’t think they’re going
to give me eight months off again,” she says with a devilish grin. “Because I got
married, they’re like, ‘Nope, she does crazy s---.’ ” But the nuttiest thing Lam-
bert may have done was actually relax. “I had time to be a person,” she says of
mundane life stuff. “I had weekends and could go to dinners.”
That ability to Netflix-and-chill gave her time to stretch out creatively, which
informed Wildcard’s 14 tracks, recorded with producer Jay Joyce (Eric Church,
Little Big Town). Like all Lambert albums, it is a dynamic affair that can travel
from icy heartbreak to scorching rage in the time it takes to fix your lipstick and
strike a match. Odes to true love, both sensual (“Fire Escape”) and roof-rattling
(“Locomotive”), share space with a gorgeous ballad about the warring desires
to roam and to nest (“Settling Down”), a brassy bop that manages to embrace
all that is good in her life while laughing off the trolls (“Pretty Bitchin’ ”), and a
rocker that’s as close to new wave as Lambert has ever come (“Mess With My
Head”). A winkingly murderous duet with Morris called “Way Too Pretty for
Prison”—a spiritual cousin to songs like the Dixie Chicks’ “Goodbye Earl” and
Brandy Clark’s “Stripes”—is a highlight. (“We already killed him in [2007’s]
‘Gunpowder & Lead’; this is the second husband,” Lambert quips.)
Listening to Wildcard—brawnier and more radio-friendly than Weight of
These Wings—you’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll wake up from a blackout-drunk
evening next to your two best girlfriends and a freshly dug grave that none of you