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April 17, 2022
Scott Foley, purveyor of glitter dust
Last month University of Illinois Press published a book by Shana Goldin-Perschbacher. Queer Country identifies a queer thread that has run through country music for generations. Interested readers will want to spend some time with the excellent Pitchfork interview. The book jacket features the masked and fringed figure of Orville Peck, hands reaching towards the audience like he is weaving a spell. Perhaps bestowing a blessing.
A self-identified world traveler, Peck (a pseudonym) was born and raised in South Africa. While he prefers to remain a man of mystery, some progress has been made in parsing together the identity of the person behind the fringed mask since the 2019 release of Pony. Much of the response to the debut centered on the novelty of his appearance, the fact that the record was released with the support of the country-averse Sub Pop label, and his sexuality, which was the one part of his identity about which he left no doubt. Not only was Orville Peck messing with gender, he was flirting with the very conservative fabric of country music. On top of his originals, the songwriter released subsequent covers of Bobbie Gentry's "Fancy", Johnny Cash's "Jackson" and genre-fied runs through "Smalltown Boy" and "Born This Way". Add to this his one-off as one-half of The Unrighteous Brothers, working with Paul Cauthen to deconstruct a couple Righteous Brothers standards.
At heart, these renditions speak to Peck's dedication to his chosen genre, especially those rhinestoned, larger-than-life aspects that have been a part of country music for decades. It's from beneath those stagelights that he delivers Bronco, his second full-length collection. It's the Nash-vegas stage upon which he poses and croons in the video for "C'mon Baby Cry", dodging bottles and boos from onlookers as he catches the eye of his paramour: I can tell you're a sad boy just like me / Baby don't deny what your poor heart needs. Orville Peck stands confidently at the intersection of Dolly Parton and Whitney Houston.
Where Pony (and the subsequent Show Pony EP) might have been tentative, exploratory gestures, Bronco is bold and blatant, with a confidence and an abandon that fuel the driving title cut. Catch the sun boy / Let 'em say your name Peck sings, riding atop a bucking, galloping rhythm . That same urgency drives songs like "Daytona Sand", a country-surf cut with a racing heartbeat pulse. Always a remarkable vocalist, his trademark baritone hiccups like Dwight Yoakam, soars like kd lang, and cries with an energy and emotion that can only be likened to Roy Orbison.
Orville Peck relates how the pandemic granted him time to focus on his songccraft, even as it also brought a challenge to his emotional wellbeing. He recalls an early crush on "Kalahari Down": What do I know? Buncha sorrow / Promises of a desperado / Through the rusty sky I feel the breeze. Peck's voice swells, lifted with the dramatic strings. Noam Pikelny's banjo compliments the lovely acoustic "Hexie Mountains" and "Iris Rose", which adds trumpet for a Southwest accent.
Throughout Bronco, Peck is supported by members of his touring band, an outfit that performs as FRIGS, and in 2021 released a decidedly avant take on the Cuntry Covers Vol 1 EP under the moniker Bria. Bria Salmena and Duncan Hay Jennings contribute a punk esthetic to Bronco's arrangements, though their ability to perform within what is largely a country pocket is impressive. Salmena duets with Peck on "All I Can Say" to revelatory results.
While not as unexpected as the arrival of Pony, the new project succeeds far less on novelty and more on the merits of its writing and execution. "Curse of the Blackened Eye" and "Trample Out the Days" are among the year's best songs, the former adding a country-exotica vibe to lyrics addressing the emotional struggle or personal history that haunt us: It ain't the letting go, it's more about the things that you take with. Bronco also seems to be a genuinely personal record, setting aside any masquerade for a dive deep into the soul of this costumed performer. Orville Peck masterfully deploys artifice and flash as a vehicle for truth, the kind of honesty on which country music has prided itself since the beginning. The genre would do well to open its doors wide in welcome.
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