Kacey Musgraves and the pop girlies are telling us to celebrate who we always were

Cut to the Feeling is a monthly column by Anne T. Donahue about the art and pop culture that sparks joy, grief, nostalgia, and everything in between.

For the record, Kacey Musgraves' 2021 foray into pop was not a bad thing. star-crossed, released in the wake of her divorce from fellow musician Ruston Kelly, was an experiment. The album represented the "new year, new me!" mentality most of us adopt following a massive life change, and while the title track was an absolute banger (come at me, I will win), the entirety read a little like Clare's "pencil" haircut from Fleabag. It was a choice. It was bold. And it was as far from the Grammy-drenched Golden Hour as one could get.

But that's the marker of a decent artist, isn't it? Or, perhaps more specifically, a crucial step in the path to evolution in general. And though her new album, Deeper Well, sees Musgraves return to the pared-down sound that made her so beloved, it's the musical equivalent of anybody's revelation that who they used to be may not be all that bad.

Obviously I'm projecting, but most importantly, I'm correct. The older we get, the bigger the knee-jerk reaction to the previous incarnations of ourselves we briefly created to navigate whatever life stage we were going through. And while time heals all wounds (reads: makes the our most questionable eras comedy fodder instead of proverbial shame-walks), there's still the internal cringe factor of remembering the personas we tried on in hopes of circumventing inconvenience or pain. 

For some of us, it was box-dye black hair and DIY bangs circa indie sleaze (hello). For our favourite artists, it's the album or singles released following a massive personal upset that audibly break from the person we thought they were. But both are necessary to emerge from whatever-it-is as a more fully-rounded, seasoned person.

I say this as we enter a cultural season in which the pop girlies are stepping into the music and selves that are less about appeasing fan expectations and more about revelling in who they are now. 

Two weeks ago, Ariana Grande released Eternal Sunshine, a concept album that saw her acknowledge elements of her personal life (see: divorce from ex Dalton Gomez and newer relationship with Wicked co-star Ethan Slater), but, unlike Sweetener, avoided topical references (lest we forget "Pete Davidson") in lieu of exploring the emotional and mental dichotomy between being a pop star and being a human being. 

The Tortured Poets Department, April's upcoming release from Taylor Swift, will (seemingly) explore the gravity of her relationship with and fallout from her six-year romance with Joe Aldwyn –- yet the tracklisting suggests a continuation of the new public transparency she's exploring in her current, actual life. 

Beyoncé is returning to her hometown roots in Cowboy Carter, using "16 Carriages" to illuminate the early days of her pop star trajectory. And then, of course, there's Kacey.

Deeper Well — both the album and its title track — lays the foundation for the ethos many of us (including our pop icons) have come to embrace in our older, hopefully wiser ages: love may be terrifying ("Too Good to be True"), death comes for us all ("Cardinal"), yet regardless of how desperate times may make us feel, we'll usually make it to the other side ("Nothing to be Scared Of"). Musgraves doesn't offer an apology or explanation for the approach she took with star-crossed, nor does she lament on her former coping mechanisms (she's stopped smoking weed, which she acknowledges in "Deeper Well"). Instead, she presents her truths and feelings with quiet but assured confidence, saying what she needs to say, but hardly over-selling it.

This is the place I think we'd all like to find ourselves in: aware of who we've presented ourselves as, but sturdy in where we stand. I know that as I climb through my thirties, I'm trying to be kinder to the 20-something who had to broadcast the what, where, and why of even the most trivial choices; trying to find a place (any place!) that would hide me from the former, less-appealing versions of who I'd once been. I'm trying to celebrate the multitudes I contain instead of categorising chapters of my life or explaining away behaviours or mindsets as a testament to what an idiot I once was and how far I've come. I, like all of us, am currently still an idiot — just with more under-eye circles, and an inability to eat Taco Bell after 4 p.m. But that's what's drawing me into the year's musical narratives so deeply: the women I grew up listening to seem to be doing the same thing.