Kacey Musgraves: Same Trailer, Different Tune

So does she ever want to do any of that settling she sings about? The kids, the marriage, the house? “I flip flop,” she says, “but I think yes. Marriage scares me because it seems like it can do something to your brain. But on the other side of the coin it sounds great. I think kids are awesome, it has to add such a cool facet to your life.” But, she adds, “when you are done living for yourself.”

Though when it comes to politics, she’ll never quite convene with any of the Red State norms. She is a fervent supporter of gay rights, rooted in a moment in high school when one of her best friends came out to her. “People are driven by the same emotions, to love and want to be loved,” she says. “The younger generation coming up needs to know that it’s okay.” In return, the gay community loves her back: she was even championed early by notorious gossip blogger Perez Hilton, who asked Musgraves to play an event of his in New York where she ended up opening for Brandi.

“On one hand, I agree with keeping music and politics separate. But on the other hand, music is inspired by politics. Look at the Sixties and Seventies. You don’t want to piss people off. And at the same time, I don’t want to be a robot.” This extends to her feelings about religion. She believes “in Karma and some driving force to life,” but it doesn’t necessarily have to be a divine one.

“I think the word ‘God’ has been hijacked,” she says, echoing a lyric in her song “John Prine,” where she sings: “I don’t want to knock religion, but it’s always knocking me.” It’s probably important to mention that this song is more about her dream of smoking weed with one of her idols than any existential spiritual crisis.  (For the record, she later met Prine at a club, and asked him to get high. He politely declined.)

Back in June, I saw Musgraves play a warm-up show for her European dates with Lady Antebellum at Nashville’s The Basement, a small club underneath famed record store Grimey’s. She was wearing a mini-skirt and still had a chunky blonde strip down the front of her hair instead of carefully placed highlights. The room was packed with frat boys and hipsters, some of whom screeched when Musgraves took the stage. When she played the song “John Prine” (which didn’t make the record) a girl in a floral sundress turned to her boyfriend and asked, “who?” He didn’t know and shrugged his shoulders. The room was made up of either people who had no idea whom Mr. Prine is and those who worship him as much as Musgraves herself. There’s not much of a middle ground.

And that’s exactly where a lot of her audience falls: people who are both in and outside baseball. Those who cherish old country music love the way she conjures up the ghosts, the attitude, the brawn. And those who listen more to Lady Antebellum and Taylor Swift love how she mixes in a little more twang and sass with the pop tunes they’re accustomed to – they like how she pushes those buttons because to them, it’s something totally new. It’s Musgraves who struggles most with how she fits in.

“My voice is undeniably country, and I love country,” she says. “Do I love what it’s turned into? No, not all the way. It’s a little embarrassing when people outside of the genre ask what I sing and I say country. You automatically get a negative response, a cheese factor.”

“My favorite compliment ever is when someone says, I hate country music but I love your music,” she adds, sponging up the last of the cabbage. Turns out, country fans love it too: Same Trailer debuted at number one on the country charts, and she’s spending the summer touring with Kenny Chesney, singing about drugs and homosexuality to a crowd that will eagerly chant along while chugging Bud Light and sporting huge plastic cowboy hats. Many of them will be singing about the life they live, in small towns, unhappy marriages and terrible jobs with unfulfilled dreams, “Blowin’ Smoke” that things will get better. Musgraves is aware of the irony. Maybe they’ll realize something about themselves, about what country music can be or maybe they’ll just like the catchy refrains.

We’re finishing up dinner, and all that’s left on the platter is a piece of Ingera that sits beneath the vegetables, lamb, string beans and other dishes we’ve polished off. Musgraves has her eye on it. “I think that’s my favorite part about Ethiopian food,” she says. “I love how at the end, you get to eat the bread underneath that has been soaking up everything. It’s the best part.” I can’t help but smile at the metaphor. Beneath it all, the big tours, the chart-topping, the steady rise to fame, she’s just a Texas girl, lingering back, taking it all in, packaging it into material for the next turn-of-phrase.

Because that’s the thing about that last bite – and about Musgraves herself. It’s unexpected and bolder than everything else that came before it, maybe even an acquired taste with all those flavors, mixed together, some you might not have opted to sample during the main course. But it most certainly is the best part.