Kelly Joe Phelps got his start interpreting old tunes like "Jesus Make Up My Dying Bed." The raspy baritone's spine-chilling slide guitar, played lap-style, inspired fellow axe-man Steve Earle to call his sound "a feeling, a smoky, painful, yet somehow comforting groove that lets you know you are not alone - even when you're blue." Even on original songs about an aging prostitute, a schizophrenic arsonist or a washed-up middle-aged man with "No happy ending to tell ... no desire to swing the bell," Phelps' sparkling finger-picking and strong storytelling shine through. He plays essentially folk songs, and as such, they don't attempt to create some new sort of harmonic convergence. Simple, blues- and country-blues- based songbeds with melodies at once well-worn and brand new provide more than adequate impetus for the singer's brilliantly acerbic pen to be put to use. When that happens, Phelps strikes the listener as a true sage, someone in possession of a tireless command of the lyric. It's not too often you can sit so close to this kind of talent. 

MORSO WINE BAR, 8 P.M., $25, 9014 PEACOCK HILL AVE., GIG HARBOR, 253.530.3463