Seriously Cracked Tales From Late Bloomer Johnny Dowd

Within the “In Cold Blood” vibe of his songs of murder, mayhem, adultery and the living purgatory of a broken moral compass, Johnny Dowd diverted his set on Saturday at Jacks Sugar Shack to introduce his “Hell or High Water” as an ode to marital loyalty. A few people in the crowd snickered, expecting a punch line, but Dowd was taken aback.

“I’m not Beck,” he said. “I’m serious. I’m not ironic.”

Indeed he’s not, and that’s what made the Ithaca, N.Y.-based, Texas-born singer’s show so captivating. Having drawn comparisons to figures from Johnny Cash to Lou Reed to David Lynch to hard-boiled novelist Jim Thompson, Dowd is anything but your typical pop-star entertainer. A late bloomer who’s been working as a moving man, he’s just released his second album at age 52, following an arresting 1996 indie debut.

On Saturday Dowd called to mind Dennis Hopper, alternately placid and manic as he sang-spoke in a matter-of-fact, monotone drawl and played the heck out of his Telecaster, with singer Kim Sherwood-Caso providing haunting counterpoints.

Behind them, keyboardist Justin Archer and especially drummer Brian Wilson--also playing bass pedals with his left foot--cobbled evocatively gothic ambience (the Southern literary style, not the pop-culture fashion) from Appalachian death ballads, surf-a-billy twang and avant-garde controlled chaos. Imagine the Residents setting Flannery O’Connor’s “Wise Blood” to music, and cast Dowd as its cracked street preacher.

“Welcome, Jesus,” he sang in his second song of the night--but rather than an embrace of a savior, it was an apology to him for being received in Dowd’s “swampy mind.” Compared to this, Nick Cave’s Elmer Gantry sermons seem like playacting.

Spooky.