My wife drops me off at the curb, drives away. I stand on the sidewalk gazing across the street. I check the address in my hand.



This block at the edge of downtown is empty. No traffic, no people, no movement anywhere. Weeds devour vacant lots. Buildings look abandoned.



A flutter of worry. It’s the associations, I think, more than the actual moment. Quiet, taillights disappearing, hot sun, guy alone on the corner — it’s the classic drifter scene. Woody Guthrie, Tom Joad. Robert Johnson at the crossroads.



Earlier that morning I listened to Ghost Country, the new record by James Hilborne and The Painkillers. The strange, spectral tunes brought to mind the phrase Greil Marcus coined to describe the dark vein in American folk: “the old, weird America.”



“This is the old, weird America,’ I thought, grooving in my kitchen to The Painkillers. Now, standing alone on the street, I think, “If the old, weird America still exists, this is it.”



The address is right. I cross the street to an unmarked, rundown cinderblock building. I knock on the door. No response. I check the address again.



Finally a car pulls up. Doors open. Out jump Painkillers bassist Drew Schot, guitarist/ keyboardist Billy Stambaugh, and Hilborne.



“Guess this is the place,” I say.



“Yep. This is the place.”



The door opens and we’re greeted by drummer Rick King.



Welcome to Uptone Studio.



Inside, I’m shocked. The place is clean and comfy, even stylish. We pass through a cushy lounge and into the recording and rehearsal space where the band’s gear is set up for practice; another door leads to a workshop and King’s collection of Schwinns. Wood paneling abounds. It feels like a clubhouse.



Now we return to the lounge to talk. Hilborne, Stambaugh and I share the couch, a giant vintage sectional. Schot takes a seat on one side of a diner booth while King dumps a box of Good & Plenty on a plate like a gang of pills.



King takes the other side of the booth and we begin. I tell them my thoughts about the old, weird America, how I hear it in their music, how I see it in Tacoma.



“I think you heard right,” says Schot.



“Our songs are written in Tacoma, about Tacoma and for Tacoma,” Hilborne adds. “It’s a great place to write a murder ballad.”



The old, weird America.



And it only gets weirder. Ghost Country takes its name from a review written about the Painkillers in Portland’s Willamette Week, but the reviewer could not have known how apt the term really was. The band claims a ghost haunts the halls of Uptone Studio.



“If you listen really closely, you can hear (him) on the record,” says Hilborne.



Hilborne, who brings a folk background to the band, says what he likes about folk is “the spooky stuff.” Good thing, because it bubbles up from the ground at Uptone Studio.



“This is an old Indian burial ground,” King tells me.



According to King, a construction accident on the property around the year 1900 buried several Native American workers. The bodies, as the story goes, were left in the rubble to rot.



I can’t hear the ghost on Ghost Country. Still, the unexplained looms large. The Painkillers have a knack for taking simple, direct songs and making them seem complex and ambiguous. The mystery lies in what they and recording engineer Nathan Smurfwaite, their “fifth member,” leave out, which is a lot. They’re not afraid to let the ghosts shake their bones.



After the interview I wander outside. I walk down the empty street, looking for a bus stop. Ghost Country plays in my head: My town is breathing smokestacks from hell/My town is bleeding, it is not well/Searching for a place where I can dwell. It’s an uneven record, with songs swaying from profound to trivial. But, true to its name, it’s also a haunting one — the perfect soundtrack for this old, weird, haunted town.



Don’t miss James Hilborne and the Painkillers’ CD release party with Panic Pants this Saturday at Rocket Records. An after-hours party will be held later at Uptone Studio with DJ Hunter Lea and Friskey.



[Rocket Records, CD release party with Panic Pants, Saturday, June 13, 3 p.m., all ages, no cover, 3843 Sixth Ave., Tacoma, 253.756.5186]