In person, Charlie Louvin is feistier than anything he's put on record for the past 20 years. His latest effort is an acclaimed, self-titled album featuring star turns from the likes of Elvis Costello, George Jones, Will Oldham, and Wilco's Jeff Tweedy.
As good as it is, it's rather somber and limited in its scope of Louvin's talent. Certainly, it's no match for the man who riled up Club Passim Friday night with a full band that included Boston's own Jimmy Ryan on mandolin.
Louvin, 79 , is the surviving half of the Louvin Brothers, a seminal country-gospel brother act that recorded in the 1950s and early '60s.
He's on the road to promote his first studio album in more than a decade, and it was a little disappointing to see Passim didn't quite sell out. (Granted, the show was added late to Passim's schedule.)
It's curious how vintage country plays out in New England. Not because there isn't a fan base like there is in the South or Midwest, but because often it's a collision of cultures on the divide of blue state vs. red state.
The audience wants to experience the music, but when politics or religion comes up, there's usually stone-cold silence, unless you're Steve Earle railing against the war or Willie Nelson pontificating on pot.
So when Louvin, smack in the middle of Harvard Square, remarked that George Bush "is the first Republican [president] to start a war," even backing guitarist Diane Berry realized it was best to stick to the music. She gently prodded him to move on. "Next," she said in half-jest.
The music, after all, was the star of the evening -- a big, rollicking mix of old-school country with Berry on acoustic guitar, Bill Kelly on electric, Brent Wilson on bass, and Kevin Kathey on drums.
Louvin was lavish in his praise and support of his fellow musicians. Ryan, addressing Louvin with a reverent "sir," played for the entire set, often getting plum solos at Louvin's request. "This boy picks the fire out of that mandolin," Louvin bragged.
On "Ira," his poignant tribute to his late brother, who died in a car accident in 1965, Louvin closed his eyes and got visibly choked up. He could barely get through lines such as, "Alabama to the Opry/ Was the second-hardest road/ The worst was me losing you/ And singing all alone."
It's true that Louvin's voice is rather weathered these days, but if his range is gone, his fire for the music is not.
"I'll admit I'm not as good as I once was," he joked to Kelly about his age. "But I'm just as good once as I ever was."
James Reed can be reached at jreed@globe.com.