What usually comes first for you when you write, words or music?
I try to get the music going as quickly as possible, 'cause that kind of locks the words in. If I go with the words first, I tend to overwrite. The way it comes about in the last few years is that I'll get an idea going in the motel, then kind of come back home, I've got a little work area set up in the back of the house, and finish 'em up out there. Even when it's like pulling teeth, it's the most exciting thing I do, outside of family. When you know the song is almost getting there, and you just gotta work out this one little problem. It's great. It's still the biggest thrill.

Are you a real studio rat, or do you like to just get in there and get out?
It's weird. My problem is, that every noise I make in the studio, I think sounds pretty good (laughs). I need to have [a producer] in there with me, to come up and say, "Hey, you sang in the wrong key," and not listen to my bullshit. Someone to say the performance isn't right, because I'll always think it's right.

Is there any difference now in your touring life in 2000, as opposed to 20 years ago?
Yeah, there's more of it (laughs). The most touring I did in the past was with the X-Rays, that was a rock 'n roll band on the road. I was partying all the time, you know? These days, it's usually just me driving around in a car, getting someplace. I like touring, but the driving is a real bear -- it's the old joke, "I'll play for free, but you gotta pay me to drive." Playing to a bunch of strangers is really the most fun to me, and I think I've just been doing it long enough that I know what works. That's the perk about getting older doing this stuff -- you can sorta weed out the stuff that doesn't work.

What's your take on the Alt.Country movement?
I think it's the future of country music. The stuff that sounds more "country" to me is almost always alternative stuff. People like Phil Lee, who are kind of old-timey sounding, but it's really vibrant. Allison Moorer, people like that, that's the stuff. Shania Twain and that part of country music is just sold out so awfully, and they're going for the lowest common denominator. It's different from Hank Williams, who was trying to find a universal experience and get it across.

At some point, like 30, 40 years ago, country music was based on a rural experience, and there's fewer and fewer people now who have that experience. So who is it speaking for now? I mean, who's the typical country fan today? It's probably not someone who lives on a farm, more likely it's someone who lives in a suburb. Alt.country isn't so tied to geography -- if it is, it's the geography of the mind.

Any thoughts on the digital music revolution?
I want to care about it, but I don't have the know-how or inclination to get into all the 'net stuff. That's not my job, really, my job is to make music. It makes it a lot easier to get it all out there, but it also makes it a whole lot harder to find the good stuff. I mean, everything has equal value on your computer screen. I think, in the past, when there were just a few major labels, a lot of people who were really good were getting overlooked -- the problem's now gone the other way, where there's a glut of people who are screaming mediocre. But it's the ultimate democracy -- everyone has a shot.

Has being a writer who exists outside of the popular music establishment been a comfort to you, or is it ever a drag?
More of a comfort. More freedom. In the beginning, you think that [big commercial success] is what you want. I mean, when I started, I wanted to be bigger than Michael Jackson or something. But I've seen it do some terrible things -- make good writers bad, screw people up. Being on the outside is really the best artistic point of view. I think it may be the only artistic point of view.

You're part of a pretty clear thread of country "poet-laureates" from Hank to Kris Kristofferson, John Prine and Townes. What do you feel you've brought to the mix that is uniquely your contribution?
The story songs, I think are what last in people's memory. The concept of going back and using an event everyone knows about from the past, and coming at it from a sort of odd angle, that's what I think I bring to the table. Like that song "1917" [A French prostitute's recollection of ministering to young men during WWI - Ed], I was thinking, "Who's gonna go for this?" It's way long, it's in a minor key, it's not a contemporary event, it's me singing from a woman's point of view, it's about death and incompetent sex (laughs). And I thought, well, that's what this one is, you know? And it came out really well. I think there's a kind of bravery while you're writing the song not to give up on it when it starts to come out weird.

When I first heard "Dillinger," on Through a Glass, Darkly, I almost fell out of my chair. I'm a songwriter myself, and it just raised the bar in my head. Sent me right back to the drawing board...
(Laughs) I've had that feeling. The main thing is, if it sends you back to the drawing board, that's okay -- if it sends you to another job, well… (laughs). I mean I've heard people where I thought, "Christ, I'm a hack." But you've gotta just go out there and keep doing it.

If you had to pick, who would you say is the greatest songwriter of the last 50 years?
Well, there isn't a "best" songwriter, but I would say that Townes Van Zandt was the one who moved me the most. Bob Dylan, of course, is huge. To me, there's a sort of pantheon of great writers, and in my imagination, they're all sitting around in a room, and I'm trying to get in that room -- even if I have to wait on tables. I want to be in that room.
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Jay Sosnicki is the editor and producer of MUSICBLITZ. His band, MOJO RIB, is redefining the meaning of rock 'n roll as we speak.