Sometimes it’s the name you’ve never heard of that unexpectedly provides the best show of the weekend.



While I’m no psychic, if I had to guess, James Apollo may do just that this Saturday at The New Frontier Lounge when he plays a show with the similarly folksy David Bavas. Born in Arkansas, and currently a resident of New York, Colorado, and mainly the road, Apollo pens driving songs and living songs — tunes that, with a dusty and forlorn meander, capture both life as Apollo has experienced it — as a traveling musician, a soul probably better suited for years gone by — and through the eyes of everyman. This is the sleeping-under-the-stars, heart-on-sleeve appeal of James Apollo.



While you may have never heard of him, there’s a good chance you’ll want to familiarize yourself with James Apollo. A musician who began his career in the unsavory world of rock and roll touring at the age of 16, Apollo has seen more than his share of sights during his time lugging a guitar, and makes no bones about putting those experiences to music. 2007’s Hide Your Heart in a Hive, which has been released both domestically and abroad, is a beautiful example of all of the above.



I caught up with Apollo this week to get his thoughts on pulling into Tacoma, life on the road, and whether he’s really as melancholy and road-worn as his music suggests.



WEEKLY VOLCANO: First of all, what are you expecting from Tacoma? You’re a man of the road, but will this be your first time in our fair city?



JAMES APOLLO: Yeah, this will be number one for Tacoma. I do a lot of travelin’, but the Northwest is amazing. Do you guys take pets? My iguana and I are looking for something with a yard.



VOLCANO: How do you stay sane touring? Does it feel natural, and has it always felt natural, or was it something you had to adjust to?



APOLLO: When I was a kid on the road, I’d enjoy it to the fullest, but love nothing more than coming home. Unfortunately, you can only have so many “Welcome Home” parties. And after awhile I started to lose touch with the real world after a few weeks on the road. When you forget what you’re missing, you stop missing it. I guess now it’s less about staying sane on the road. It can be a bit hectic. It can get lonely. And it’s hard to stay sunny when you’ve lost your wallet and your band hates you and there’s no way you can get to the next town on time. But those are easy problems. Those are different than finding a parking spot at the grocer or bickering with your girl about god-knows-what. Those are real life problems. I try to get as far away from those as possible.



VOLCANO: You split time between Silverton, Colo., and New York City — at least according to Wikipedia (which is, like, always right). Those seem like almost completely different places. As intended?


APOLLO: There are things we do to survive and things we do to live. If I had stayed out in the country I’d be singing these songs to myself till the day I died. I’m not exactly a socialite, but sometimes it’s nice to have a little more company than yourself. New York is a great town for music, but I’m not fooling anyone into thinking I like living there. Colorado is a little place where I can hang my head and not worry about a subway train running over it.



VOLCANO: Talk about Hide Your Heart in a Hive. It’s a very solid disc, by the way.


APOLLO: Hive was released in the U.K. this past fall, which was kind of a relaunch for it over here as well. The trouble was, it originally came out in the states in ’07, but after a month of touring on it I broke both my legs in a motorcycle accident, thus setting everything in my life back about a year. Troubling times. But I really enjoy walking now.



VOLCANO: Seriously, though, are you really as melancholy as everyone says?


APOLLO: Hmmm ... just ask, well, anybody I’ve ever known. It’s hard to find that line between suffering for your art and just suffering. I’m not trying to be melancholy, but I do want to move people. It’s just that the things that folks tend to find moving in these tunes are the same things that make me a mighty hard guy to live with. I’d like to take this time to publicly apologize to, um, everyone.



[The New Frontier Lounge, with David Bavas, Saturday, April 4, 9 p.m., $5, 301 E. 25th St., Tacoma, 253.572.4020]