Miranda Lambert, “Postcards From Texas.”

For her 10th album and her first, Miranda Lambert didn’t try to reinvent the wheel. The Texas native remains strong and unapologetic. Postcards from Texas brings her home stage to life through rich personal storytelling and collaborations with fellow Texans.

On “Looking Back on Luckenbach,” she turns an unincorporated community north of San Antonio (where she’s performed many times) into a sad ballad, accentuated with melancholic steel guitars and minor chords. It also feels like she’s singing about Texas as a whole, as if she’s missing her childhood.

Texan country newcomer Parker McCollum provides an assist on “Sante Fe,” another song about reminiscing on specific places. It’s also on the slower side, with pedal steel casually propelling it forward.

Lambert is fully in her element with her clever wordplay on “Alimony,” where she picks apart messy divorces and even credits her parents’ time as private investigators as a source of inspiration. The honky tonk song is about getting the last laugh; despite the pain, at least there’s dollar bills to wipe away the tears. “If you think you can afford her/ Well, you can’t afford me, too,” Lambert sings over twinkling piano strikes. “If you’re going to leave me in San Anton’/ Well, remember the Alamo-ni!”

While Lambert wasn’t involved in the writing of album opener “Armadillo” (this ones goes to Aaron Raitiere, Jon Decious and Park Twomey), her authoritative voice establishes her as the narrator in a crazy story about a weapon-brandishing, hitchhiking armadillo in Amarillo, a shuffling acoustic-guitar-led tune that works in a vibraslap. She bookends the album with a cover of David Allan Coe’s Southern tune “Living On The Run,” adding her own spin with some tweaked lyrics, cutting the femicide and replacing it with with a sort of love story.

The melancholic lyrics of “Dammit Randy,” about a dude who didn’t know what he had until it was too late, are contrasted with driving electric guitar strains and rock-based percussion.

“Now that I’m gone, I’ve got your attention,” Lambert sings.

The second half of the album is more introspective. “I Hate Love Songs” starts with intricate acoustic fingerpicking. It leads into self-reflection as Lambert sings about doubt and fear that created a rift in a relationship that eventually didn’t pan out. The instrumentation is bright, adding energy and building into a rocker

The following song, “No Man’s Land,” which also begins as a sparse acoustic ballad, builds with pedal steel and Hammond organ. The song title is taken literally and could apply to both relationships in general and reproductive rights specifically—”Even when she’s in your arms, she’s no man’s land.” It’s a sneakily powerful message in a carefree, breezy musical arrangement that again references place names, such as Comanche land that included West Texas.

Miranda Lambert writes for no one. Her interests and creativity are more important to her than current trends. Postcards from Texas is a great reminder of why she’s been making music as long as she has. Her authenticity, humor and quick wit help her make something worth listening to each time.