It’s high noon, the sun is sizzling the fields somewhere near Fort Stockton, and a sheriff’s SUV rumbles past oil pumps as it kicks up clouds of red dust. Sheriff Walt Joeberg doesn’t slow down for much, not for rattlesnakes, nor fight-picking roughnecks, and definitely not for faint hearts. Slide those mirrored shades over sharp eyes and—bam. That’s Mark Collie behind the wheel, rolling out of radio speakers straight into Taylor Sheridan’s oil-rig saga, Landman.
Mark Collie’s not some Hollywood dandy trying to fake his way through West Texas. Let’s get this absolutely clear: the man walks up to the Landman set with honky-tonk in his blood and the South knitted into his bones.
From “Even the Man in the Moon Is Cryin’” to Midcounty Mayhem
Before Collie put on a sheriff’s badge, he rode the country music circuit with blistered hands and that weather-beaten grin. Born in Waynesboro, Tennessee—pretty far from Midland, sure, but it’s a place built on country grit too—Collie scribbled tunes while hauling gear to every late-night bar gig. He learned how to read a room, how to silence it, and how to fire it up again. His breakout single “Even the Man in the Moon Is Cryin’” hit the Billboard country Top 5 way back in ’92, and his catalog drips with blue-collar tension. No surprise, then, that Taylor Sheridan saw a kindred spirit—and not just another famous face to hang a badge on.
But before we go painting Collie as just a singer who lucked out with a juicy TV role, let’s set the record straight. The man’s acted before—and convincingly. He played the stone-cold Harry Heck in The Punisher (2004), biting out a guitar ballad so chilling you’d keep your lights on at night. He donned Johnny Cash’s black and walked the line in the indie film I Still Miss Someone. And for several seasons, Collie turned heads as bad-news Frankie Gray on ABC’s Nashville. So really, walking into a Taylor Sheridan universe—where brawlers and broken men drive the action—felt more like saddle up, not fish out of water.
How Sheridan Snags a Sheriff
When casting news hit back in April 2024, Landman fans perked up. Sheridan, the high priest of authentic dirt-under-your-fingernails drama, picks his actors with all the precision of a marksman. For Sheriff Walt Joeberg, he wanted someone who felt like he could write you a speeding ticket and pick a Townes Van Zandt tune at the local VFW. Collie walked in, flashed a weathered .45 he’s owned since 1986, quoted Waylon Jennings to the casting team, and stomped out with the part. No audition jitters there, just straight-laced cowboy charm.
He did his homework too—not from the back of some air-conditioned trailer, but out under the West Texas sun. Collie rode shotgun with real Midland County deputies. He picked up their lingo, watched how they handled sticky situations, and—more than anything—soaked in that “boomtown tension.” One night, the crew answered a pipeline trespass call. Collie, always a songwriter first, later said, “You can’t fake that kind of pressure. You feel it right down to your boot heels.”
Building Sheriff Walt Joeberg: One Wrinkle at a Time
What makes Collie’s Sheriff Joeberg resonate isn’t just the costume or posture, but all those little signature moves. He limps after long days (Joeberg’s a Vietnam vet with old shrapnel in his leg; Collie added that). His badge? It’s not some shiny prop-shop job. Sheridan actually lent Collie a resin copy of a real Brewster County badge from the ’70s, a nod to both men’s love of Texas legends.
And let’s talk gear. Collie downright refused to swap his old .45 for a modern Glock, insisting on the genuine article. His boots come scuffed and sweat-stained. He recorded voice memos on set, mimicking the accents of waitresses, oilmen, and rodeo barkers until the drawl fit just right.
Where Hollywood types usually swing for the fences and land somewhere between cliché and cringe, Collie keeps Joeberg drier than the West Texas wind. He doesn’t spit out catchphrases. He grumbles, he sighs, he shrugs, and sometimes he nails you with that “don’t test me, son” twang. Fellow cast members say he ad-libs local slang in-between script lines, which director Peter Berg kept in the final cut. It’s only natural, since Sheridan encourages the cast to pull directly from dusty life experience.
Sheriff Joeberg on the Beat—and Off It
In Landman, Joeberg is the local law and the unofficial town fixer. Anytime something blows up, goes missing, or flat-out dies, they don’t call some out-of-town suit—they call Walt. Collie explained to ScreenRant in January 2025 that Walt and Billy Bob Thornton’s oilman Tommy Norris go “way back.” Norris and Joeberg, said Collie, are “closer than most businessmen and Sheriff departments… Walt tries to be as accommodating, tries to cover Tommy’s a when he has to. But that’s going to get more dangerous.” Sheridan never makes things easy, so you can be sure Joeberg’s moral compass will creak, split, and get tested as the season’s heat climbs.
The supporting cast loves a bit of cowboy chaos too. Reports from on set say Collie broke up heated scenes with tune breaks. Old Townes Van Zandt numbers and sometimes his own past hits drifted across the trailers. In fact, fans should keep an ear out: there’s a scene in episode seven where Walt sidles up to the bar’s battered mic and launches into “Roughneck’s Prayer,” a new song Collie cowrote with Chris Stapleton. Talk about meta—Sheriff Walt gets to croon while the plot thickens. That’s pure country stardust.
Real Texas? You Bet.
Collie’s connection with Texas isn’t some written-for-TV fairy tale. He’s played every stage worth its sawdust from Gruene Hall to Billy Bob’s Texas, and regulars at Larry Joe Taylor fest swap stories about “that one time Collie almost blew the roof off.” Texas Monthly even ran a podcast bit in February 2025 with Collie describing his method for perfecting dialect: leave your ego in your boot and “just listen to what Texans never actually say.” That kind of listening paid off.
And let’s be honest—West Texas adopted him quick. Locals posted selfies with the sheriff downing sugary kolaches in roadside gas stations. Actual deputies lined up for photos, badges shining beside his prop. And when the summer heat got brutal, Collie soldiered on through a day of heatstroke and IV fluids, back on set in under two hours. No cushy star treatment, just an ironclad work ethic.
A Sheriff with a Songbook
You’ll find Collie’s fingerprints all over Landman’s soundtrack, even when he’s off camera. His latest album, Book of My Blues (2022), thrums with the same energy that pulses through the series: “barbed-wire halos,” “pumpjack lullabies,” and all the small heartbreaks a boomtown births. Sheridan respected that songwriting edge. As he told the Dutton Rules podcast last December, “Mark’s done 40 years in honky-tonks; that’s my guy.” With Collie, every on-screen pause feels loaded, every throwaway line rings like an old lyric.
Fan Buzz Burns Bright
Social media didn’t miss a beat either. Reddit is calling Collie’s Joeberg “my uncle, if dad let him run wild with a six-shooter.” X is full of hot takes: the consensus splits between “Tommy Lee Jones in No Country” and “the uncle you trust with secrets, but never your truck.” TikTok, ever the wild card, supercut Collie flipping a shotgun on set with a Zach Bryan track. One clip landed 1.7 million views in a single Sunday. Clearly, the lawman’s got reach.
Collie’s Renaissance—Music, Stardom, and More
This isn’t just a career boost. Landman put Collie’s music back in neon lights. Streams for “Even the Man in the Moon Is Cryin’” doubled between November 2024 and February 2025, reports Chartmetric. Now, look at his tour dates: June and July find him headlining Floore’s Country Store and Billy Bob’s Texas—with a few sold-out stops. Fans buy a ticket for the singer, stay for an autograph from the Sheriff himself. That’s synergy you can’t force; it’s earned after decades.
Outside the bright lights, Collie puts boots on the ground for more than performance. Diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes as a teen, he funds diabetes research at Vanderbilt. While filming in Midland, he recorded a PSA urging folks to get screened. Then, in classic small-town fashion, he captained the Landman crew in a charity softball game, raising $78k for juvenile diabetes research. Community, country, and cop, all rolled into one.
Saddle Up, There’s More to Come
Don’t blink or you’ll miss it—next season looks set to throw bigger storms Walt’s way. Rumors swirl about campaign scandal plotlines and “jailhouse negotiations” that might just see Collie’s laconic lawman take center stage. When he isn’t wrangling plot twists, he’s busy filling honky-tonks once again.
So, what happens when you mix hard country road lessons with a badge and a bushel of Sheridan drama? Easy. You get Mark Collie—the only lawman who can bust open a case and a jukebox on the same night. And ride on, Sheriff, because West Texas hasn’t run out of stories yet.
