Musgraves and her band make quiet, pretty country music, the kind that critics like to call “Breezy,” because songs rely as much on the band’s beautiful notes as the open spaces between them.

Musgraves’s new album Golden Hour makes mincemeat of both the trepidation about the quality of country women’s art and the fuss about them crossing over.

The towering disco jam “High Horse” might seem like a hard left in a discography of wispy outlaw-country tunes, but the magic of Golden Hour is that the 13-song track list patiently walks you into its experimentality, starting with “Slow Burn,” a stoned, delicate jam whose closest stylistic antecedents are Radiohead, Harvest-era Neil Young, and fedora Beck.

Golden Hour is music by and for weed and psychedelic enthusiasts, by Kacey Musgraves’s own admission, but more than that, it’s about falling for someone you might want to spend the rest of your life with.

The singer married the country songwriter Ruston Kelly last winter, but Golden Hour coyly resists the urge to simply gush like a “Wedding album,” balancing every song about the rush of new love with a pithy kissoff to a dirtbag or a clever line about wishing she was Wonder Woman so she could simply lasso the truth out of a man.

Kacey Musgraves might be a square peg around Music City, but her singing and songwriting are sharp enough, and consistent enough three albums in, to make any objections about her style and image seem embarrassing.