Luke Bell's music is full of honky-tong swagger.

His voice is deep, rich, classic country.

And alongside this strut, often, there's a wink about the insecurity, fear, or alienation lurking underneath.

Like in Luke's song, The Great Pretender,

which you talked to Scott Simon about in 2016 on NPR.

That song in particular is just kind of about the time, you know,

in your youth that you spend going out to bars

and then sort of that thing you do, that masculine thing you do, where you're

trying to get laid or whatever and you're traveling around and basically a shallow-based

interaction, which I don't know, am I getting into too much detail here?

We don't need any names if that's what you do.

Right, okay, okay.

It may hurt when you realize that I am the great pretender.

I paid close attention to that interview because when Luke Bell's breakthrough album came out in June of 2016, I was in Cody, Wyoming, Luke's hometown.

The place was a buzz about his Nashville career taking off,

him opening for the likes of Willie Nelson and Dwight Yocum.

A few weeks after that interview, Luke came to town

and headlined a hospital fundraiser in a big barn

where people two-stepped all afternoon into the evening. It was a great party,

and where I first met Luke's mom, Carol. Carol's become one of my best friends. I want you to picture

someone who grew up on a ranch who's quick to tear up or start a debate at a dinner party.

Carol sits up front at music festivals and gives me the best novel recommendations.

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