The musical Cabaret has seen its fair share of unexpected casting over the years, with its vignette-style storytelling and club-set numbers allowing performers of all kinds to slip into its Weimar-era roles—and giving audiences plenty to speculate about who might take them on next.

But if anyone raised an eyebrow at the news that country singer Orville Peck would make his Broadway debut as the Emcee in this latest revival, they only needed to look beyond his signature masks. Peck, who has cultivated an air of mystery around his background, actually began as a trained dancer and musical theater actor. He even has ties to Germany, having done voiceover work there as a child. So the fact that he delivers an astonishingly good Emcee—with an instinctive grasp of the fine line between desire and menace that rivals, let’s be honest, Joel Grey and Alan Cumming—shouldn’t be as surprising as it feels.

His character, the master of ceremonies at a decadent Berlin club in 1939, thrives on enigma, but Peck told Vogue there was never any question about whether he’d keep his mask on for the role. He felt it would make the performance about him rather than serving the story. Still, just days before his debut, he joked about not knowing how he’d react when the spotlight first hit his uncovered face: “I’m very curious to see if I’ll roll with it and find it exhilarating or if I’ll have an out-of-body experience—or a mental breakdown.”

By April 7, a week into his run opposite the fierce Eva Noblezada as the latest Sally Bowles, the production held a glitzy gala performance attended by a mix of theater stars and Peck’s tight-knit circle of queer, internet-savvy friends. The theater, transformed to resemble the Kit Kat Club, buzzed with familiar faces like Andrew Rannells, Conrad Ricamora, Jeremy Jordan, and Gideon Glick—alongside Peck’s own crowd, including Chappell Roan, Larry Owens, Liz Gillies, Busy Phillips, and a host of Drag Race alums like Trixie Mattel, Jinkx Monsoon, Katya Zamolodchikova, Kandy Muse, and Meatball. Even Norman Reedus, an unlikely friend Peck made during a music video shoot, showed up with his wife, Diane Kruger.

Later, at an after-party on Broadway, John Waters held court, quipping about his 2000 film Cecil B. Demented when a guest mentioned it. Noblezada, wearing a headpiece inspired by Hedy Lamarr, toasted with her fiancé, Reeve Carney. Meanwhile, Peck, in an embroidered indigo denim tuxedo by RRL, stuck close to his friend Brittany Broski, who was there with the writer twins Annabel and Sabina Meschke.

As it turned out, Peck’s fears vanished the moment he stepped into that first spotlight. Below are excerpts from our conversation just before his debut.

Vogue: When I think of you as a queer artist, three things come to mind: kink, performance, and mystery. All of those are central to Cabaret, especially the Emcee. What’s it like embodying them in this role?

Orville Peck: Those are all things I bring to my career—and parts of myself, like anyone else. The mystery is the most interesting to me, both in my work and in this character. The idea of masks, literal and figurative, touches on so many compelling questions: Who are we trying to be? How vulnerable are we willing to be? Who’s really underneath it all? I’ve always said my mask lets me be more myself. Without it, I feel more guarded—like I’m wearing a figurative mask at a party because I’m socially awkward. Cabaret plays with that. The silent undercurrent of hate, bigotry, anger—those emotions often lurk beneath people’s smiles.The Emcee occupies a strange space—both inside and outside the action. How are you approaching that role?

In every production of Cabaret I’ve seen, there are moments where you question: Is he really there? Is he some ethereal presence? A symbol? A real person? For my interpretation, the answer is yes—he’s all of those things. But I didn’t want him to feel purely performative or metaphorical. First and foremost, I grounded him as a real person.

What’s fascinating about Cabaret is how each character is in Berlin or at the Kit Kat Club for different reasons. They’re all running from—or toward—something, chasing a freedom they can’t find elsewhere. As the world collapses into fascism, each must make a choice based not just on where they’re from, but who they are.

From my perspective, the Emcee revels in that same freedom the club offers. But ultimately, the Emcee is Germany. That’s the dilemma: Do you resist, or do you assimilate?

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Is there any part of you, watching Eva perform, that wishes you could play Sally?

[Laughs] I’ve never had the urge to play Sally, but my favorite song in Cabaret has always been Maybe This Time. It’s so beautifully written, especially for a character who might seem superficial at first—a party girl just chasing fun. But that song reveals even someone like Sally is desperate for what we all want: love, acceptance, to be chosen. It’s got this raw, almost country-song vulnerability. Maybe that’s why I love it so much.

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How have rehearsals been? Anything surprising you about yourself as a performer?

It’s been a long time since I’ve done theater, even longer since I’ve done a musical, and I’ve never stepped into an existing production. This was baptism by fire.

In my 20s, as a dancer, I had endless energy. Now, at 37, I wake up with aches, so I’m learning to conserve energy where I can. It’s a whole different world. For the past decade, I’ve been self-employed, in control of my schedule. The biggest adjustment—which sounds like a luxury problem—is surrendering to this massive, rigid timetable. It’s humbling, but I welcome that.

Honestly, I’m living a dream I’ve had for 25 years. Playing this role on Broadway? I’ll put in whatever work it takes.

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You’re days away from your first performance. What’s the biggest challenge you anticipate?

[Laughs] Where do I start?

This production is in the round—tables right up to the stage, completely immersive. The August Wilson Theatre has been transformed gorgeously; just sitting in there feels like an event. But performing a musical in the round is disorienting. Your energy has to radiate in every direction.

When I was younger, as a dancer, I’d subtly angle myself toward the audience. Here, there’s no hiding. You have to stay fully engaged, remembering that people are watching from all sides—and you owe each of them the same intensity.You get your money’s worth.

This conversation has been edited and condensed.