Miranda Lambert tried to return to her Texas roots in her latest album and regrettably wandered down the wrong path.

The country singer-songwriter and three-time Grammy winner released her 10th studio album “Postcards From Texas” on Friday. The 14-track LP follows 2022’s Grammy-nominated “Palomino” and is Lambert’s first album since her debut to be recorded entirely in her native Lone Star State. Although she sounds fairly relaxed and at peace throughout the majority of the album’s 45-minute runtime, “Postcards From Texas” is often lackluster rather than luminous, and in some cases exists as a watered down regurgitation of far superior material from Lambert’s tapestry of past work.

The album opens with the nonsensical “Armadillo,” a two-minute blip that opts not to maximize the soulful twangy edges of Lambert’s vocal range and instead deploys jarring switches in pace from a honky-tonk jive to a plodding downtempo trot. Its lyrics oddly illustrate Lambert’s antics with a personified armadillo character that is seemingly unrelated to the rest of the LP. Compared to some of Lambert’s past album openers such as the spirited “White Liar” on 2009’s “Revolution” or the haunting “Runnin’ Just in Case” on 2016’s “The Weight of These Wings,” “Armadillo” feels trite, incomplete and thematically underdeveloped.

More concerningly, several songs across the LP’s tracklist blur together in a sleepy series of ballads that fail to evoke substantial catharsis or heartache because of their repetitive production and uncharacteristically dry lyrics. The Parker McCollum duet “Santa Fe” is snooze-worthy as a consequence of the apathetic delivery of ambiguous lines such as, “We may not get it back / We’ll always have Santa Fe.” Other tracks feature dulcet vocals but are bogged down by some of the most anonymous lyrics of Lambert’s career, as she passively sighs, “Everything went wrong / Now that he’s gone / I hate love songs,” on the middling “I Hate Love Songs.”

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In other cases, songs that initially appear to have solid premises do not ascend to the heights they could have, becoming lost in the shuffle of mediocrity on repeat listens of the album. The retrospective “Looking Back On Luckenbach” and romantic “January Heart” lilt by smoothly enough, but Lambert’s vocal performance on each lacks the passion or verve to sell the heartfelt emotions she attempts to convey. These two tracks represent a significant issue with the vast majority of the record, as Lambert’s husky voice sounds thin and weathered. In the past, her voice – even when hushed and whispering on more contemplative tracks – has brought a fullness and depth that most songs on “Postcards From Texas” are severely missing.

Fortunately, a handful of tracks during the album’s midsection exemplify the rousing production, passionate vocal performance and punchy lyrics that Lambert has long excelled at, especially on lead single “Wranglers.” The foreboding track would be right at home alongside Lambert’s rowdiest hits such as 2011’s “Mama’s Broken Heart” thanks to its assertive vocals and percussive production. The distorted electric guitar riff woven throughout the song helps give listeners a much-needed jolt of energy while magnifying the defiance and confidence Lambert effortlessly exudes.

Like “Wranglers,” “Alimony” shines as an example of Lambert’s classic lyricism and sassy attitude in full effect. “If you’re gonna be a dumbass / Honey, I hope you remember the alimony,” she teases on this playfully snarky album highlight. The biting lyrics, dark humor and upbeat vibe echo the rebellious cattiness of 2007’s “Crazy Ex-Girlfriend.” It’s no surprise that longtime collaborators Natalie Hemby and Shane McAnally co-wrote the track with Lambert, as it is the only song on “Postcards From Texas” that easily stands on par with her best work.

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Even with these short-lived bursts of exuberance, “Postcards From Texas” ultimately falls flat. At its core, the album is not outrageously bad by any stretch of the imagination, but it is offensively bland. For one, the record is absent of an instant classic such as 2009’s “The House That Built Me” that demonstrates Lambert’s skill for down-to-earth, poignant storytelling. Admittedly, not every album can be expected to have a knockout stunner of a song to serve as its heart and soul. That said, the LP’s bigger problem is that it works exceptionally well as a source of pleasant background music. For an artist with a nearly two-decade long resume like Lambert, creating forgettable background music can hardly be considered the intended goal with new releases.

Perhaps the most disappointing aspect of the new LP’s derivative sound and flavorless lyrics is how drastic of a regression it is from Lambert’s previous album, “Palomino.” On that record, Lambert delivered career-best work across several vibes, tempos and themes with a Mick Jagger cover, a collaboration with The B-52’s, wistful nostalgia on “Carousel” and moving professions of devotion on “I’ll Be Lovin’ You.” In contrast, “Postcards From Texas” takes several steps backward with its sonic monotony, inconsistent vocals and lyrical plainness.

Of course, Lambert has absolutely no obligations to replicate the exact soundscape or lyrical themes that made “Palomino” or any of her previous albums soar, nor should she be held to the high standards set by these albums at all times. With “Postcards From Texas” and any of her work moving forward, she has more than earned the right to release the type of music she wants to create. However, it is difficult to fully enjoy the limited bounty “Postcards From Texas” has to offer when knowing the considerable strength of Lambert’s past discography. In many ways, the record’s simplicity – without the sophisticated wordplay or sonic variation to render such simplicity truly compelling – comes across as if it is Lambert’s first album rather than her 10th.

Unfortunately, the overwhelming banality of “Postcards From Texas” sends the message that Lambert’s artistic peak is likely behind her.