Miranda Lambert’s 10th studio album begins with a plucky honky-tonk stomper, full of folksy imagery and a jaunty vibraslap sound:

“Well I met an armadillo/ Out in Amarillo/ And he asked me for a light,” Lambert’s voice swings, “I said a where ya goin’/ He said ‘I don’t really know’/ And I said, ‘Brother I’ve been there twice.’ ”

It might be an outlier for listeners expecting a collection more in line with the album’s lead single, the classic rock- channeling “Wranglers,” but it’s also the perfect tone-setter. Across the 14-track release, Lambert aims to deliver sometimes- traditional country with a lot of heart.

Throughout, “Postcards From Texas” is a sonic road trip across Lambert’s home state — from the steel guitar-led ballad “Looking Back on Luckenbach” to the funny, trash-talking divorce anthem “Alimony,” with its not- so-thinly veiled lyrical geography.

“I called that lawyer up in Dallas,” she sings in the chorus. “If you’re gonna leave me in San Antone/ Remember the alimony,” the last word teased out to turn “Alamo” into “alimony.” It’s such a rewarding lyric reversal, it feels almost prototypical — as if plucked from some great country music songbook instead of written into it.

Lambert’s voice is where “Postcards From Texas” finds its cohesion, from dreamy ballads, like “Way Too Good At Breaking My Heart,” to classic covers, like in the case of “Living on the Run,” from David Allan Coe’s 1976 album, “Longhaired Redneck.”

Lambert co-produced the album with Jon Randall, and recorded the entirety of it at Austin, Texas’ Arlyn Studios, the first time since she was 18 that she has recorded a full album in her home state. In those days, long before becoming a stalwart of Nashville’s Music Row, it’s easy to imagine she wasn’t thinking about a homecoming — especially in a state where those considered Texas country greats are overwhelmingly male.

At this stage in her career, Lambert doesn’t have anything to prove — and that’s one of many reasons why “Postcards from Texas” is a ride that works. — Maria Sherman, Associated Press

Suki Waterhouse has unveiled her second studio album, a sprawling 18- track release that never outstays its welcome and features plenty of shining moments. “Memoir of a Sparklemuffin” is a vaguely ridiculous album title, referring to a colorful breed of jumping spider. But it is an apt metaphor for her musical persona — unapologetic, iridescent and not afraid to bare fangs from time to time.

Waterhouse barnstorms through the opening third of the album with six songs that each run under three minutes. Opener “Gateway Drug” begins with spacious chords and mournful vocals and builds to a waltz-y crunch of garage guitar. “Supersad” ups the tempo with high vocals over a club-ready wall of guitar and synth sounds.

The single “Blackout Drunk” is an instant earworm, destined to be the most enduring track. The catchy girl-group vocals and sharp hand claps belie darker themes. She sings, “Cause I can hardly wait to tell you all the (expletive) things that you’ve done/ When you’re up b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-blackout drunk.”

Waterhouse enlisted over a dozen writers, producers and as many instrumentalists to collaborate with her on the project. Executive producer Eli Hirsch was instrumental behind the scenes, lending his own contributions on guitar, bass, keyboards and percussion. It is a high-wire act to work with so many, and it wouldn’t work without Waterhouse’s vocal dexterity. Throughout the release, she slides comfortably between ’60s pop, ’70s hippie jams, ’90s alternative and contemporary alt-rock.

Given the breadth of creative inputs and the high profile of the artist’s personal life, it is hard to discern the degree to which “Memoir of a Sparklemuffin” is, well, a memoir. The album certainly offers glimpses.

Regardless of where the terrestrial Suki ends and the “Sparklemuffin” persona begins, the variety and pacing of the release make it enjoyable all the way through. — Jim Pollock, Associated Press