![]() ![]() “Really, it was me going back to where I was the night that I wrote it, a couple of summers ago, on my front porch. “When you’re smelling the candle, you’re smelling the sentiment of the song,” she begins. The self-identified night owl admits she scoured the internet looking for inspiration for her first collaboration, and in the process she came up with a new word: scentiment. I just love the process of shaping things.” “When I dedicate my time and my energy to something, I don’t just hand it over to somebody and say, ‘You figure out.’ The fun, for me, comes in figuring out, seeing the initial sparks of what it might be, and dreaming of what something could turn into, and that’s with a song or whatever. “Matthew was down to be as collaborative as I wanted to be from day one, which is a big deal for me,” Musgraves stresses. The collaboration process consisted of Musgraves and Herman trading inspiration via Pinterest-yes, she made a mega mood board for the scent-as well as Musgraves sharing her poem about the song. “It was really a kind of a fun way to bring a song to life, almost in another dimensional sense, you know what I mean? If the song was 3D already, now it’s 4D.” She pauses for a laugh before adding, “Now it’s got the Smell-O-Vision, if that makes sense!” It’s somewhere in the middle, but it’s earthy,” she continues. It’s not masculine and it’s not feminine. “The candle itself has black pepper, a little bit of tonka, amber, and kind of a slightly burnt quality to it. Called “Slow Burn,” after the song, the candle is Musgraves’s first-ever collaboration and a reflection of her synesthetic songwriting. The scene set here is a reflection of her song “Slow Burn,” the one off her four-time Grammy-winning album Golden Hour-and what Musgraves sent to the fragrance house that developed her first candle with Boy Smells. This song is about not giving a shit about any other timeline than the one that feels good.” Strangers on the other side of the globe in Beijing are heading into work. Savoring every last drop of the deep orange negroni in your glass in the fading bits of the evening. A walk in the summer to your favorite bar. A little dank, a hint of crisp, a satisfied sigh. ![]() Kacey Musgraves is reading me a poem, and I’m doing my absolute best to withhold giddy shrieks on my end of the phone call: “Shimmery. ![]()
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