‘A New York Evening With Dave Alvin & Jimmie Dale Gilmore’
The Greene Space, 44 Charlton St.
October 22, 7:30-9 p.m.

New Yorkers who missed Dave Alvin and Jimmie Dale Gilmore at Manhattan’s City Winery at the end of August have the opportunity to catch up with the singer-songwriters on Tuesday at the Greene Space. Presented under the auspices of the Grammy Museum, Messrs. Alvin and Gilmore will be in conversation with musician and author Warren Zanes, presumably talking about their recent album, “Texicali.” Fingers crossed, they’ll also sing a song or three.

“Texicali” marks the second time these two veterans have collaborated. Like their 2018 release “Downey to Lubbock,” the new album is a bit of this, a bit of that, some things new and mostly things old. A recent profile of the duo in Texas Monthly cited how both men are of an age to receive Medicare. That’s been true for some time: Mr. Alvin clocks in at 68, Mr. Gilmore, 79. If “Downey to Lubbock” and “Texicali” coast on covers and remakes, think of it as a codger’s prerogative. Our heroes have paid their dues.

Besides, “Downey to Lubbock” contained rapturous bits of music, among them an ethereal version of “Silverlake,” originally by a Nashville songwriter, Steve Young, and a recasting of the Youngbloods’ hippiedom anthem, “Get Together.” Actually, critics should use caution when using the term “hippie” around Mr. Gilmore: He’s gone on record as detesting the word — which isn’t to say the erstwhile Texan doesn’t share some of the metaphysical tendencies that came to the fore during the 1960s.

Among the odder contributions to an odd album he recorded in the early 1970s with the Flatlanders is “More A Legend Than A Band,” which is “Bhagavan Decreed.” Mr. Gilmore didn’t write the song — the author was a Texas compatriot, Ed Vizard — but it does make reference to ideas that would be within a good Buddhist’s purview. 

A Hindu term connoting an otherworldly good independent of a specific deity, “Bhagavan” seems an unlikely subject for a hillbilly song, particularly one that ends with an absurdist flourish: “You say one day soon we will all stand as brothers/Till then I guess we’ll just stand around.”

Mr. Gilmore is, then, an atypical country singer, a temperament and talent rooted as much in Eastern philosophy as he is in Lefty Frizzell, Hank Williams, and the singing brakeman after whom he was named, Jimmie Rodgers. His voice is among the most distinctive in popular music: high and keening, redolent of the mountains. Mr. Gilmore’s career has been peripatetic — the magnificent “Spinning Around the Sun” (1993) wasn’t quite the breakout album it was intended to be — but the music has consistently merited relishment.

Mr. Alvin’s pedigree is no less quirky: Back in the day, he was a guitarist and primary songwriter for a Los Angeles punk-adjacent outfit, the Blasters. The group’s self-styled “American Music” siphoned the energy of hardcore bands like Black Flag and X, but was predicated more on blues musicians like Big Joe Turner, Lightnin’ Hopkins, and John Lee Hooker. Since parting with the Blasters, Mr. Alvin has pursued a solo career and continued writing songs that mine the American vernacular with pithy aplomb.

A follower of Guru Mararaji and a specialist in rockabilly noir: Could there be a combination less likely? Consider it preordained: Mr. Gilmore’s voice continues to test its parameters, while Mr. Alvin’s ferocious guitar redeems the limits of a croaky sprechgesang. The duo share vocals on the plaintive “Death of the Last Stripper,” the heart-rending “Betty and Dupree,” and what I hope isn’t their last will and testament, “We’re Still Here.” Should you have the pleasure of their company at the Greene Space, request “Silverlake.” You surely won’t be disappointed.