Two years ago, Culture Cabinet profiled Elke (the musical moniker of Nashville-based artist, Kayla Graninger), following the release of her sophomore album, Divine Urge. She said that making that album helped “define [her] as a person.” She added, “I’m me now, and all of those other times. I miss everything and want more all the time.”

And while that may have been true, now, on the precipice of releasing her third studio album, Big Mike (out October 30), she’s realized that maybe she hadn’t completely defined herself just yet. That even though she was proud of Divine Urge, the songs that she found herself writing after its release didn’t quite work for her anymore. She had to let go of the sound she spent years building, because even if the music still had merit, it didn’t really reflect the artist making it anymore.

“I think I wanted to get rid of all that noise so I could just get straight to the point,” says Elke. “There’s a lot of really hard things that have happened in the past year. So I think it kind of felt like it was doing a service to my experience by just laying it out and letting that kind of tell the story.”

And so was born Bike Mike, an album that feels much more stripped down, honest, and vulnerable. An album that strikes a beautiful blend of romanticized nostalgia with a self aware look at reality. Even the album’s title illustrates this well- it is dually named as a reference to basketball player Michael Jordan, and as a tribute to her late father. And as a departure from her previous records, it trades layered and electronic tones for something more aural and intimate. After parting ways with a longtime creative partner, Elke found herself returning to the guitar, spending hours alone with the instrument and seeing what inspiration could strike. And soon, she found that what began as a simple change in artistic direction actually resulted in an entire new way of connecting to herself.

While she feels more sure of her artistic style than ever, she still values her old work. “I think about [my old] songs sometimes,” she says. “I still like them. But it really just stopped aligning with what was going on in my day to day. I actually don’t even think I had the energy. I still had energy, but it just was shaped so different. I just kind of wanted to sit behind a guitar and see what would come out melodically.”

That willingness to follow her instincts and be willing to evolve runs beyond how she approaches her music. Elke approaches her visual work (the album art, the music videos), with the same sensitivity to a song’s inner life, often sensing its personality before she even knows how to translate it into an image. “I see the personality of the song very clearly when I write it,” she explains. “So to create a scenario around that personality, it’s like I’m not thinking of the music video as the song is being written, but I know who that person is and I know what that person would do- the song person in the video world.”

For instance, for the music video for standout track “Breathless,” that “character” emerged from a place of sadness. Drawing inspiration from The Virgin Suicides, and Pride and Prejudice, imagining a familiar story with a different outcome. “I was mainly thinking about that kind of world of longing and thinking of a storyline that already has a terrible ending,” she reflects. “Rather than one with a happy ending, I’m like, ‘Well, maybe I’ll try and change.’ I’ll create a new piece of art that takes something we know and has broken our hearts and reverse it because that’s what I wanted.”

While the crux of the album lies an obvious willingness to begin again and start over, Elke doesn’t view being open and personal as synonymous with being exposed. She recalls briefly reconsidering the chorus of “Toxic Trait,” wondering whether she should change its central question from an accusation directed at someone else into a more introspective examination of her own behavior. But, ultimately, and with the encouragement of others who heard the song, she decided to keep the original wording.

“Music is not a courtroom,” she says. “It’s how you experience music. Each listener, they have their own relationship with themselves.” She ultimately settled on balancing honesty and specificity, occasionally pulling back details that might limit what listeners could bring to the songs. Her goal, however, was never to write according to an audience’s expectations, but to instead remain true to herself.

In some ways, that meant embracing an identity that she previously had resisted. “I was so anti being a ‘songwriter,’ like being a ‘singer-songwriter,’” she says. “I even wrote that on my last press, when they’re like, ‘What do you want to avoid?’ and I was like, ‘I want to avoid being a singer-songwriter.’” Accepting that role became an act of self-validation, as she ultimately recognized that she could trust her own voice, even when it felt too vulnerable or frightening. “It’s really truly more just about witnessing myself and allowing it to happen,” she says.

Still, Elke isn’t interested in letting her music become formulaic. As she works on new material, she’s already questioning the melodic patterns she developed while making Big Mike, wary of relying too heavily on what feels familiar. Instead, she’s looking for ways to play with her voice and discover which parts of her experience feel more meaningful to explore.

But, for an artist whose latest album emerged from the decision to stop forcing a certain direction, the next step may be less about finding a new sound and instead focus more on remaining open to wherever her instincts lead next. After all, Big Mike was the result of what happened when Elke gave herself permission to just begin again. It seems natural that the next chapter could remain unwritten until the music tells her otherwise.

Big Mike is out October 30 via Congrats Records.