Songwriter is comfortable with his place in pop history

If Jay Farrar did nothing else, he would be assured a small but important place in pop music history. As one-half the songwriting strength of the beloved early-'90s band Uncle Tupelo, he helped launch an unlikely revolution in pop music - the resurrection of old country music for the alternative rock crowd.

Uncle Tupelo's dynamic range - from sparse, mournful acoustic balladeering to ear-splitting electric garage rock - fits together as though they really were two sides of the same coin. It was the songwriting, however, that made the band great. Along with Uncle Tupelo's other main songwriter, Jeff Tweedy, it was like having Neil Young and Bob Dylan in the same band. Tweedy has Young's knack for mercurial but memorable pop hooks, and Farrar's cryptic, intense ruminations and personal revelations have more than a passing resemblance to Dylan.

As those who grew up on punk rock (and the resulting explosion of independent music in the early '90s) got older and started looking for music that was a little more personal, Uncle Tupelo found an audience.

"It's gratifying, really, to hear people say that something you did was worthwhile," says Farrar in his typical self-effacing manner. "But a lot of what was said about Uncle Tupelo was probably just not true. There were so many bands that came before that were doing the same thing."

Few, however, made it all make sense like Uncle Tupelo. The band broke up, however, just as the music began to attract attention. Tweedy started Wilco, and Farrar started Son Volt. Both capitalized on the underground credibility of their influential predecessor.

It's now a bona fide movement - "alternative country" or "insurgent country." A magazine called No Depression (also the name of Uncle Tupelo's first album) provides the locus for the scene, which, unlike other late-'90s music trends, has shown no signs of fizzling out.

"It's actually surprised me that it's gone on," Farrar says. "I guess it has something to do with the quality of the bands. It's something that I don't put much stock in - a so-called 'movement,' but I am surprised that it's lasted."

Son Volt is, according to Farrar, on "indefinite hiatus." He's concentrating on plugging his first solo album, the wonderfully eclectic "Sebastopol." For someone who has done so much to create a specific sound, it's surprising to see him go in different directions.

Beneath the same austere, melancholy voice pulse unexpected new sounds - strings, synthesizers, backup vocalists. Guests such as Kelly Joe Phelps, John Wurster (of Superchunk) and Gillian Welch help flesh out Farrar's music in new and startling ways. The pop elements that seemed to be Tweedy's exclusive preserve now shine through in Farrar's music as well. "Voodoo Candle" and "Vitamins" stand out as perhaps the catchiest songs he's written.

"Songs can be about anything," Farrar says, offering examples: "an odd newspaper article, love, simple observations, impressions from traveling that might not pop up until a couple of years later. ... Sometimes, there's an incubation period."

Travel is always a recurring theme. The song "Feel Free" has the refrain Breathing in the diesel fumes/Admire the concrete landscaping/And doesn't it feel free.

"That's my impression of St. Louis, the old architecture, the buses spewing out diesel fumes," Farrar says.

He has recently scored music for a film ("The Slaughter Rule," an independent film about football) and is working with other former members of Uncle Tupelo to put together a "Best of" package.

"It's going to be an anthology of some sort, with some outtakes or live tracks that haven't been released," he says. Will this mean that Uncle Tupelo is getting back together•

"Uhhh ... " Farrar says, laughing. "No plans for that."

Michael Machosky can be reached at (412) 320-7901 or mmachosky@tribweb.com .