Words by Thomas Rutherford There has always been an otherness to Sturgill Simpson, a disregard for convention. Since his debut, he’s been a modern outlaw, wrapped in lead, smoke, and whiskey yet introspective and deeply vulnerable. He has never embraced this more than on his latest album Sound and Fury , simultaneously a searing celebration of living beyond boundaries and a thoughtful rumination on the hurt and the pain that causes a person to live in such a way. Once considered an outlaw country artist, with comparisons drawn between him and legends such as Merle Haggard, Waylon Jennings, and Willie Nelson, here, however, Sturgill smashes apart genre convention until all that’s left is the outlaw. And he’s never been better. The album begins with radio static, roaring engine. Soon, a distortion heavy, yet laconic riff rolls in. This is music born of dust, made for hard sunlight, hot asphalt. The song is called “Ronin.” In ancient Japan, a Ronin was a samurai with no master, a wan