After the alt-country band Uncle Tupelo imploded in 1994, Jeff Tweedy went on to greater fame with the more eclectic Wilco while lead singer Jay Farrar never grew past cult-artist status.
But Farrar did make one album that surpasses anything Wilco ever did: Trace, the debut disc by his on-and-off group Son Volt. Performing the entire record Saturday night at the Kessler Theater, Farrar made a strong case for ranking Trace as the defining work of 1990s alt-country.
Performing sans drums and bass -- flanked by just pedal steel player Eric Heywood and fiddler-guitarist Gary Hunt -- Farrar emphasized the country melodies and rich vocals that make Trace tick. His baritone was in perfect shape throughout the show, purring like a Lamborghini after a tune-up.
Every now and then, he'd tinker with a melody and stir in subtle Middle-Eastern-style vocal notes. For the most part, he played it straight, saying almost nothing to fans and simply letting the intensity of his voice and the impressionist poetry of his lyrics lull you into a trance.
Heywood broke the spell with dazzling pedal steel solos that recalled David Lindley's work with Jackson Browne, and Hunt pulled out his own steel guitar for a memorable duet with Heywood on "Ten Second News." But like Trace itself, the set was less about showy musicianship than about the simple power of a superb melody perfectly rendered.
In "Windfall," Farrar sang about driving through Louisiana in the wee hours, fueled by the sounds of old-time country music on AM radio: "It sounds like 1963," he sang, "but for now, it sounds like heaven."
It's an apt description of Trace itself: Timeless songs, etched with the melancholy feel of a dark, lonely highway.
Farrar followed the Trace tracks with a dozen tunes from his post-Tupelo career, including some lovely Cajun waltzes driven by Hunt's fiddle. The setlist -- and Farrar's solo career in general -- could benefit from more tunes like those: Too many mournful mid-tempo songs can feel redundant after awhile, which is one reason why Farrar's post-Tupelo audience hasn't grown as large as Tweedy's has.
But Farrar did encore with a surprising overhaul of Bob Dylan's 1966 hit "Rainy Day Women #12 and 35," altering the melody so much that if you didn't listen to the lyrics, you wouldn't recognize the song -- a time-honored trick perfected by Dylan himself. Farrar might not be the most versatile artist around, but he certainly knows how to end a show with a killer curveball.
Thor Christensen is a Dallas writer and critic. E-mail him at Thorchris2@yahoo.com.
