The first thing that jumps out about “Pray,” the first song on August Gladstone’s album The Golden West, is an outrageously deep baritone vocal. It’s a defining voice, resonant and commanding, the kind of voice some in the country western sphere might ride for the duration of their career (see Johnny Cash). So it’s a surprise when subsequent songs utilize a completely different timbre and style, as though delivered by others in an imagined cast of characters comprising Gladstone’s surprising, entertaining, multifaceted creation.

Theatricality is a throughline among the album’s many modes. At times jubilant and giddy with wordplay, at times morose and reflective as a moonlit watering hole, The Golden West showcases a curious and gifted songwriter exploring a particular era and genre. More “western” than “country” (deserts and deadbeats rather than pickups and parties) it’s also something entirely its own. Beyond the low-register, the melodies and delivery in “Pray” call to mind some of Beck’s folksy whimsy. Several songs revel in rhymed couplets that showcase a lyrical creativity akin to Father John Misty, as in this stellar line from “Algorithm Blues”: “We’ve sealed ourselves into a seven-second soundbite system / You said you saw the eyes of god, I scrolled too fast and missed him.” This marks one of the few tracks that reference modern technology or place the speaker in world we’d recognize as our own. Most of the time, the narrator is a tried and tired troubadour wandering America’s mythical West in search of some ever-fleeting source of solace.

While the delivery, tone, and approach varies from song to song, the ten songs on this album are coherently arranged and consistent in a couple key ways. Instrumentation remains almost entirely acoustic, with a guitar remaining central to each but accompanied on occasion by harmonicas, fiddles, twelve-strings, bass, and parlor pianos. Only occasionally does percussion emerge, and when it does it’s modest enough not to draw attention to itself. Despite the songs’ creativity, the music finds its muse in trad-western constraints.

A few minor-key tunes toward the end of the album abandon the levity that carries the first half, and while they’re well played and cleverly delivered, the predictability of the genre sounds more like a burden on the character’s journey than a motivation. A couple songs call to mind Charlie Daniels Band’s narrative structures and metric delivery – fascinating closer and title track “The Golden West” in particular, though perhaps laced with a heroic dose of peyote.

Half the time, listening to The Golden West feels like sitting in the audience and witnessing scenes that play out before you. The other half it feels like you’re walking shoulder-to-shoulder with the character delivering their favorite yarns. It’s a compelling and transporting combination regardless, and one that’s especially remarkable given the familiarity and rigidity of the genre. In a way, this effect is mirrored by Gladstone’s lyrical creativity whilst adhering almost exclusively to rhymed couplets. Even when you know where you’re going, it’s still a surprise how you get there.