Kacey Musgraves has written a song about going 335 days without sex and turning the drought into a country punchline. It is, without question, the most fun she’s sounded in years.
Released March 11, 2026 as the lead single from her sixth album Middle of Nowhere (May 1, Lost Highway Records), it’s a sharp return to the writing team that built her reputation: Shane McAnally, Luke Laird, and Josh Osborne, who helped make Same Trailer, Different Park and Pageant Material feel like correctives to everything bloated and earnest about Nashville in the early 2010s. The wit is back. The twang is back. The weaponised country double entendres are very much back.
The setup in verse one is brutal in its plainness. A very long time has passed. The last time wasn’t even good. Nobody’s boots are under the bed, nobody’s truck is in the drive. “I’m so lonely, lonely with a capital H” (horny, if you weren’t keeping up) and she’s been sitting on the washing machine. Musgraves doesn’t sell the double entendres; she barely blinks.
That low-key delivery is what makes the whole thing work. The best line arrives in the outro: nobody’s rolling in the hay, and “nobody but the chickens are gettin’ laid.” The chorus ends on a flat, one-syllable “yup.” One syllable doing the work of a full punchline.
Musgraves told NPR the song came directly from “the longest period in my adult life where I was on my own” following a breakup. There’s no romantic wallowing here, no pining for anyone specific. The song is a blurt, not a plea.
The production sits somewhere between a dusty saloon and a Sunday drive with nowhere to go. Sparse guitar with an echo-y, desert quality that drifts toward Spanish noir. Credits go to McAnally, Laird, Musgraves, Daniel Tashian, and Ian Fitchuk.
Musgraves’ vocal sits low and loose, more spoken than sung in places, which is exactly right for material this deadpan. There’s a Khruangbin quality in the guitar texture: same parched repetition, same refusal to push, and on first listen you half-expect someone to bring you a tequila.
The music video, co-directed by Musgraves and Hannah Lux Davis, plays the concept straight into absurdity. Set in a bleak, fluorescent supermarket, Musgraves wanders the aisles alone and stares way too long at produce. It’s fun and somewhat chaotic in the best way.
The Deeper Well era moved at a slow, pastoral drift. ‘Dry Spell’ gives that exactly zero seconds of respect.
This version of Musgraves is looser, funnier, and visibly relieved to be here. The video looks like it cost nothing and gains everything from that.
One note though, the song has no bridge, and you do notice. There’s a moment somewhere in the second half where the joke could build further before the outro punchline lands. The “yup” works as a full stop, but the song puts all its eggs in one basket, and not the laying kind.
“Dry Spell” sits at track 2 on Middle of Nowhere, sandwiched between a title track and collaborations with Willie Nelson, Miranda Lambert, Billy Strings, and Gregory Alan Isakov.
That lineup says something: this isn’t a polite country-adjacent crossover play. Nobody on that list is there by accident, and none of them are there to help her cross formats.
If Golden Hour was Musgraves at her most romantic and Deeper Well at her most contemplative, “Dry Spell” lands somewhere more useful: pragmatic, self-deprecating, and proof that the funniest country songs have always been the most honest ones.
Country music has survived heartbreak, hard times, and bad harvests for over a century. Apparently it can survive 335 days without action too.
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