The subtext lurking behind such a mischievously loaded sentence is one of stretched truths and potential lies, proffering a minefield of uncertainty about the veracity of any answers or information provided either before or thereafter. So, when the pseudonymous Peck claims he previously played in punk bands, that he worked as an actor and a dancer as well, that he self-identifies as a cowboy, one has reason to feel suspicious tingles at the other end of the phone call. Presumably older than 20 and younger than 40, about the only personal details he provides that seem unassailable are his current residence in Toronto and his love for the music of Reba McEntire. “When I listen to “Fancy,” I’m like, hell yeah ‘Fancy,’” Peck says with a laugh.

“Part of telling a good story is that each time you tell the story it gets a little taller,” Orville Peck says. Even over the phone, i t’s the sort of subtle confession an interviewer ought to pick up on immediately during a conversation with any subject, especially one unwilling to share his real name.

Compounding matters further, Peck wears a mask. He wears several of them, all apparently self-made. Showcased in his promotional photoshoots and music videos, as well as in concert, they’re attractive pieces, with black leather uppers adorned with fringe veils to conceal the bottom half of his face. Paired a cowboy hat to complete the look, the striking result lies somewhere between BDSM roleplay and Lone Ranger cosplay. Regardless of the motivations behind his disguise, it leaves quite an impression.

Peck’s approach here bears a paradoxical consequence. By being deliberately concealing himself behind a stage name, that anonymity sets him free, giving him license to write and sing more honestly than if under his birth name. Whether riding on the back of a Harley-Davidson Knuckleback motorcycle or looking back with lament over someone left behind in Salt Lake City, the protagonist of just about all these stories is reliably him. “This album definitely is about love in a lot of ways,” he says. “It’s about heartbreak within myself rather than heartbreak over somebody else.”

“For me, this is just my expression and storytelling,” he says. “Mine is the only story I know how to tell. ”

Narrative, one of the quintessential characteristics of the American-born-and-bred country music genre, suits him just fine. His debut album for Sub Pop , Pony (out March 22), contains a dozen gripping yarns sung boldly and populated by a motley crew of characters allegedly drawn from Peck’s own life. There are the star-crossed hustlers ominously careening across Nevada on “Dead Of Night” and the trio of select exes scattered like ashes on “Big Sky.”

“There’s a lot of theatricality to what I do and that’s purposeful,” Peck says of his enigmatic image and corresponding getup. “It’s ironic because, at the same time, I truly believe this project is the most sincere thing I’ve done artistically, the most exposed that I’ve ever been as a singer, as a writer, as an artist.”

A conspiratorially inclined journalist with a bit too much free time might comb through pages of Google search results in the hopes of discovering Zapruder-quality evidence of the artist’s true identity, it’s probably the least interesting thing about him. As fans learned from the utterly anticlimactic reveal of Burial’s real name and MySpace selfie over a decade ago, facts are typically more mundane than mystery. Though there are, and will continue to be, people on the Internet who claim to know the person behind Orville Peck, that's missing the point. Short of anything actually problematic being shielded by those beguiling bespoke masks, learning specifically which indie punk bands the man behind the moniker rocked out in has little bearing on the compelling contents of Pony.

As part of a long history of rockers going genre, most famously with glammy New York Dolls frontman David Johansen’s totally 80s transformation to lounge lizard Buster Poindexter, Peck gladly immerses willing listeners in his weird, Southern-fried world, as in the video clip for “Turn To Hate,” which debuts here today. In the video, directed by Peck and Carlos Santolalla, he performs amid a mechanical bull-riding competition, with controversial cowboy Mac Demarco as one of the many diverse folks vying for a fairly unremarkable-looking first place trophy. At one point, in convenient close-up, Peck utters the words “yee-haw,” once again opening his presentation up to interpretation.