by Eliana Fermi
Lauren Watkins’s sophomore album, In a Perfect World, opens not with bravado but with a whisper to pull you into her country charms. Having made her mark through The Heartbroken Record, a debut steeped in the ache of lost love, she now turns that same sharp lens toward acceptance, renewal, and the uneven beauty of real life. The result is a ten-song collection that is based in familiar modern country and grounded in tradition.
Produced by her husband and collaborator Will Bundy, with additional co-production by Joey Moi, the album’s ethos is plainspoken and personal. Watkins has said she wanted to “spotlight reality – healthy relationships, beautiful things about the simple life.” But what gives In a Perfect World its staying power is the tension between clarity and complexity, ease and effort. Bundy’s production gives her voice the foreground it deserves. Watkins’ tone is warm, lightly textured, and seldom drowned in gloss. The instrumentation of pedal steel sighs, acoustic shimmer, and measured electric grit builds landscapes around the vocalist.
“In a Perfect World” has a six-eight sway that introduces the record like the gentle turning of a carousel. The melody is instantly singable, the harmony familiar and elegant, country diatonicism touched with pop sensibility. Watkins’s tone is luminous, the production uncluttered. She sets up her album’s thesis that the perfect world is imaginary, but naming it reveals what’s worth holding onto. Her breath control is a study in restraint as she rides the long phrases without overselling emotion.
“I’ll Get Through It” has a descending harmonic hook that gives this modern country swing tune its identity. Watkins leans into rhythmic playfulness, digging into the groove with a slightly flirtatious lilt. The phrasing snaps against the rhythm section’s bounce, a fine example of chemistry between rhythm and lyric. Her articulation of the down-beat consonants (“Get Through It”) emphasizes resolve. This one could easily open the album, it’s that immediate and sure of itself.
“Marlboro Man” is an acoustic ballad whose emotional axis is pedal steel colors and measured accompaniment by the band. Watkins’s timbre here deepens; the warmth of her midrange feels inviting. The harmonic shift before the breakdown lends the song a cinematic contour. The pedal steel solo sings with vocal inflection. This is songwriting discipline paired with interpretive sensitivity.
“Slippery Slope” (feat. John Morgan) is a modern country waltz dressed in bittersweet harmony. The lyric’s push-pull of temptation and inevitability (“We both know it’s a slippery slope”) finds its counterpart in the chord movement and the choice of instrumentation. Watkins and Morgan weave around each other, their tones complementary. The contrast between her rounded warmth and his textured rasp lends the narrative credibility. The chorus’s rhythmic rise (“You and me / Crown and Coke”) feels destined for the stage, a case study in duet chemistry.
“Lose My Cool” is flirtation distilled. The lyric, “I’d lose my cool for that / Break all my rules,” balances humor and honesty. Structurally, it’s built on verse-chorus repetition, but the melodic arc evolves each time, a subtle demonstration of motivic development. Her tone is playful and poised; she lets consonants snap like a guitar pick. The band keeps it simple as the production space amplifies character more than complexity could.
“I Was Fine Before I Met You” has a hint of ’80s country glow with shades of Reba and early Vince Gill. The pedal steel, again, is stellar: precise bends, clear harmonic intent, and just enough sustain to shadow the lyric’s lingering doubt. Watkins’s phrasing walks the tightrope between hurt and confidence. The lyric’s clever symmetry (“I was fine before I met you … so I’ll be fine when you’re gone”) turns heartbreak into affirmation, a songwriter’s masterstroke.
“Pretty Please” closes on uncertainty rather than closure. Vocals awash in reverb, instruments swimming in echo as everything is slightly distant, as if overheard in memory. The decision to end on an “unsettling” note, as she described it, reframes the entire album: perfection’s impossibility becomes the final statement.
Across In a Perfect World, Watkins and Bundy trade spectacle for substance. The instrumentation of pedal steel lines breathes like sentences; acoustic guitars murmur rather than shout. Her vocal technique prioritizes diction and dynamics over sheer volume, a choice that singers will recognize as artistry.
Watkins’s timbral consistency and forward resonance create immediacy without strain. Observe how she transitions between conversational tone and sustained tone, especially in “Marlboro Man” and “Lose My Cool.” Her mix of chest and light-head register demonstrates healthy, genre-appropriate technique.
In a Perfect World doesn’t chase radio flash; instead, it invites you in, quietly confident. Watkins writes from the inside out, acknowledging that imperfection is the point and that joy and unease coexist. That’s the short of it!
