Bronco is the new album from country artist and songwriter Orville Peck. A consummate storyteller, the country rock inspired Bronco plays upon the horse theme so often found in Orville’s work, but this time with an exploration of freedom, breaking free from that which binds us and all that is wild and untamed. Bronco builds upon and follows Peck’s previous album Pony and EP Show Pony, which explored themes of love, loss and loneliness but advances the story arc in a bolder, newer and warmer trajectory.

“This is my most impassioned and authentic album to date,” says Peck. “I was inspired by country rock, 60s and 70s psychedelic, California and even bluegrass with everything being anchored in country. Bronco is all about being unrestrained and the culmination of a year of touring, writing in isolation and going through and ultimately emerging from a challenging personal time.”Is there any better story in music right now than Orville Peck’s? He makes old-school country—often with high-drama elements—sung in a baritone so rich and deep that it’s almost unsettling, and wears a fringed mask to conceal his true identity. (Internet sleuths believe he is Daniel Pitout, the out-and-proud drummer for Canadian punk band Nu Sensae, which only makes the story more intriguing.) On his second album, a follow-up to 2019’s Pony, his voice somehow sounds even richer: more Johnny Cash and Elvis Presley than Chris Isaak, one of the comparisons that followed Peck last time around. Steered by country super-producer Jay Joyce (Eric Church, Miranda Lambert, Little Big Town), it’s also a waaaay bigger, grander affair. “Daytona Sand” theatrically cruises along on racing drums while the lyrics set up an evocative and sexy scene: “So rack ’em up, big blonde/ I think I could’ve been your man/ We watch the surfers as they whip on the strand/ Ah, Daytona sand.” “The Curse of the Blackened Eye” is gorgeous, loping rhythmically like a mare on the wide-open prairie as Peck plays up an Elvis “uh-huh” and an almost yodel affect; the bridge, in particular, is glorious. (Country rocker “Outta Time” then offers a laugh when Peck croons, “She tells me she don’t like Elvis/ I say, ‘I want a little less conversation, please.'”) “Kalahari Down” delivers big strings, harmonica and the great line “Yippee ki yi yay/ I’m always down/ For hanging around.” “Trample Out the Days”—its guitar seeming to squint in the sun—showcases Peck’s incredible range as he sings about being a cowboy in the big city (indeed, the album includes lots of Southern California, and LA-specific, references to orient you).”C’mon Baby, Cry” shimmies with ’60s Vegas energy, Peck serving up an amazing, silver wail of “let me see you cryyyyyyyy” that would make Roy Orbison proud. (It’s also thrilling when he growls, “I got an hour or so,” turning the seductive sleaze up to 11). “Neck cracks, take-backs, no pen, sad sacks/ Swinging at the Troubadour, Dee’s, skate Fairfax,” goes “Any Turn,” a fun “Subterranean Homesick Blues”-like hard-charger with a glitzy chorus. Here’s to keeping the mystery train going. – Shelly Ridenour