I signed up as a music reviewer for a simple reason: free CDs. Of course, it soon became clear that scare quotes ought to surround "free," since writing about something that once was pure pleasure (at least after the pain of separation from a few bucks) is actual work. One thing it does to me is intrude into the pleasure of pure listening. As I put a disc on the player -- I am not a downloading kind of guy -- I not only hear the music but have to think about what I think about the music I'm hearing. That spills over into the occasional CDs I still pay for (e.g., old-favorite artists from whom I don't receive review copies) and thus won't write about.

Since I am exposed mostly to artists who live and (try to) make a living on the margins of the industry, I decided sometime ago that except in unusual circumstances, such as those on which I feel a larger point must be made, there is no point in kicking underdogs. Temperamentally, politically and economically, I am on the side of underdogs, even when their musical talents aren't what they might be, in which case I will not point out as much in public. So I tend to write about only those albums that please me or, on rarer occasion, propel me into the higher ether.

The reality is that though the adjective "roots" has never been applied so freely and loosely to new artists and bands as these days, it has never been so meaningless. The usually irritating "Americana" genre, consisting mostly of pop acts unversed in actual (i.e. traditional folk and blues) roots, as often as not trafficks in multiples of imitation; if any of it goes back all the way to the 1960s, it's a small miracle.

So I will do Nathan Kalish the favor of not pegging him an Americana act. As far as I can tell, he doesn't know much about folk music. But from all sonic indications he's drawn on some worthy music and fashioned an example of a genre that exists, if nowhere else, inside my head. There, it dwells happily in a psychic neighborhood where the residents practice what I judge What Country Music Would Sound Like Now If It Hadn't Gone to Hell. By that I don't mean new iterations of Hank Williams, George Jones and Merle Haggard, though if they do those well I have no complaint. I refer to songs that sound like organic, fully realized, contemporary expressions of what's gone before, based in familiar sounds yet laced with original ideas. I mean the stuff that guys like Nathan Kalish do.

I hear strains of Neil Young, Waylon Jennings and -- here and there -- the Everly Brothers. I know more about the latter two than the former, but Young is a perfectly respectable influence (who requires, I should add, no validation from me). Kalish (of course) writes his own songs, which are marvelously crafted, and he sings them in an amiable light fog of a voice which ably conveys whatever emotion is being put forth, ranging from self-lacerating introspection (the brilliant opener, "Bar Fight," maybe the greatest Waylon song never to be cut) to a place somewhere between wry amusement and cosmic unease ("Roswell" ) to stick-in-the-mental-jukebox guitar pop ("Do You Ever"). He's backed by an excellent small band that conjures up beauty out of restraint.

I wasn't expecting any of this. Frankly, when I opened the package, I thought I was destined to encounter another boring singer-songwriter. I was wrong. I was surprised. Maybe next time I'll be astonished. Anyway, you should hear this guy.