Long ago my feelings on folk music hardened from simple animadversion into open contempt. Consequently, I am inclined to not give a chance to even the best of the classic folkies. Tim Buckley: pussy! Phil Ochs: pinko! If I had a hammer, I'd hammer Peter Paul and Mary all day long! Nick Drake gets a pass because he's English and a genius, but it's a close call since his legions of pathetic hack followers haunt my every step. Because I have such a hard time with folk music and folk musicians in general, it is a real pleasure when I find one who can actually deliver the goods. Richard Buckner, come on down!!

Austin native (and Brooklyn resident) Richard Buckner is the owner of a ridiculously burnished voice, the kind of weathered rasp that invites overbaked comparisons to old leather, mellow whiskey and open prairie afternoons. At a whisper, darker tones invite hushed intimacy; when he cuts loose, the weariness in his voice turns to an ache that Springsteen would kill to have the use of for a single day. In the past, he has sometimes had trouble finding songs good enough to go with his voice. Buckner's instincts are not rock instincts, nor are they quite country; he doesn't go in for drama or the big finish. Indeed, even dressed up with steel guitars and uptempo kit drumming, Richard Buckner pretty much writes folk songs in the metaphorical-confessional mode, and I just can't find it in myself to hold it against him. He's too cool, too rumpled. Too real.

One problem with modern folk music is that it requires a measured subtlety that too often presents as sleepiness, and Buckner isn't completely innocent in this regard. On 2002's Impasse, all the album's songs melted together into a lukewarm puddle of mildly depressing soul-searching. That album was a big letdown in comparison to his debut, Bloomed (that album's "Rainsquall" is one of my favorite happy-sad songs), and his mid-90s offerings Since and Devotion+Doubt which (I confess) reliable sources close to me say are great. On Impasse, the claustrophobic atmosphere may have been in part thanks to Richard's own increasing reliance on playing all his own instruments. With nobody to act as a foil, he seems to withdraw into a hermetic space that might be pleasing to him but doesn't invite listeners in.