Roach deserves to be mentioned in the same breath as Oldham, Edwards, and Chesnutt (hmm, sound like a law firm to you too?), not only due to curious vocal similarities but also thanks to a similar musical spirit. Raised deep in the mountains of Appalachian Virginia, Roach clearly must have received a thorough education in the region's folk traditions, as Revelations displays a deep reverence for the music of his spiritual ancestors. That being said, the man didn't grow up in a time-capsule, and so just like the aforementioned artists, he brings an indie-rock-informed attitude and sensibility to the music. Put it this way: if you slid a couple of Roach tracks into a mix composed of Uncle Tupelo, Bonnie Prince Billy, Chesnutt, 16 Horsepower, and maybe a little Mekons and the Sadies, you'd have yourself one hell of a post-folk/country playlist. (Speaking of which: looks like I've got myself a project for later.)

There's plenty to be said about Roach's wordsmithery and storytelling know-how - "evocative" only begins to do justice to Revelations' lyrical powers - but the first thing you're bound to notice is his bewilderingly flexible voice. At times, he brandishes a fiery, pulpit-ready holler, giving roll-call as the End Times thunder closer. In other moments, he's a lonely old grumbler, staring straight-ahead at the looming specter of death. In between the two extremes, Roach comes across as a downtrodden grandpappy who remains as scrappy as ever, refusing to give in to a world that seems so intent on keeping him down.

Next comes the cognitive dissonance: when you see the guy's face. As much as he makes a rather convincing old-timer, he's obviously still a young 'un. Take a quick gander at the lyrics, though, and you'd never guess it. The disc often feels as if it was written by someone twice his age. And yes, I mean that as a compliment. It's no small feat, being able to write - and sing! - from the perspective of someone from another generation without coming across as trite or sentimental or, worse yet, insulting. Roach knows what he's doing, and he does it remarkably well.

I love the album's odd but effective intersections of pre-industrial themes with modern settings: Revelations is loaded with Biblical references and archaic language straight out of a time when Roach's native Virginia had barely achieved statehood, and yet mixed amongst the sepia-toned portraiture are references to cocaine and interstate highways and truck drivers and, best of all (on the snappy "Devil May Dance"), "the losers on 16th and South Van Ness." (What San Franciscan doesn't love a good shout-out to the 415?) It's a world where folks still say things like "maketh" and still carry around gunnysacks, despite all the concrete and asphalt underfoot. My current fave, the gorgeous Vic Chesnutt-like ballad "Fashionistas," manages to sound simultaneously like a biting putdown of hipsters and a warm-hearted reminiscence. Truth be told, I'm still a bit unsure of what it's about, but I'll be damned if it doesn't put me in a strangely sentimental mood. Here's a video of the A.J. Roach Trio turning in a stirring performance of the song, recorded a few months ago in Belgium:

If all of that use of such a decidedly postmodern word as "fashionista" left you feeling a little too firmly planted in the 21st century, then this antidote should do you nicely: "Chemicals" is a fascinating mix of Biblical language and the odd anachronistic drug reference. If Cold Mountain included a harrowing detox sequence, this song could've made the soundtrack:

Intrigued? A.J. Roach and His Strange Pilgrims ring in the arrival of Revelations with a CD release party: Monday, Oct. 22, 8 p.m., at Amnesia, 853 Valencia, SF. Free admission, y'all.