An electric turn with literary pop

PROVIDENCE - "It's rock 'n' roll! It's not T.S. Eliot," proclaims Will Sheff, the frontman and songwriter for Austin rock band Okkervil River. It's a statement of purpose from someone whose music is often tagged "literary," a lazy, reductive description of Sheff's songwriting, which is alternately raucous, soulful, and characterized by clever wordplay.

Over dinner at Julian's, just hours before a show that night at Jake's Bar and Grill, the lanky 31-year-old New Hampshire native is erudite and thoughtful, readily discussing poets and that "fantastic clown" Iggy Pop in the same breath. He also wrestles with the idea of rock 'n' roll, fandom, and incipient success beyond that of a "mid-level band," to quote a lyric from his band's new album, "The Stage Names." Okkervil River plays a sold-out show Tuesday at the Middle East.

Since 1998, the band has been producing folk-rock narratives of beautiful losers steeped in American myth. Its music is characterized by daring ideas - from the early track "Happy Hearts," a duet with the inimitable Daniel Johnston, where Sheff's vocals counter Johnston's famous warble, spelling out "u-n-c-o-n-d-i-t-i-o-n-a-l l-o-v-e," to 2005's masterful "Black Sheep Boy," a haunting concept album of murder ballads and rock songs about prodigal sons, death, and rebirth.

That album's widespread success brought Sheff newfound attention, including a shout-out from Lou Reed at last year's MTV Video Music Awards. The allure of "Black Sheep Boy" and the pull of primal songs like "Black" (about the desire to avenge the abuse of a loved one) drew a devoted cult following along the lines of Neutral Milk Hotel's Jeff Mangum.

Sheff mentions how some fans now reveal overly intimate details of their lives and then earnestly ask for his opinion. Another recent concert sticks out, too: "I was onstage and someone said, 'Tell us the answers!' It just gave me such an embarrassing feeling. . . . In some ways it was that moment . . . where I thought I don't want to make people think that I know the answers."

Feeling like he was about to become "a tormented poet of sadness," Sheff came up with the poppier direction for the new album. Where there was once lively mandolin and acoustic guitar, these new songs pivot on electric guitar, Motown-worthy drumbeats, and secret weapon Jonathan Meiburg (who also fronts the band Shearwater) adding angelic backing vocals and a flourish of piano. It culminates in an album that Sheff feels you could "play during daylight."

The daylight is reflected on the cover, an embroidered patch of a hand in front of red and yellow stripes, done by Rhode Island artist William Schaff, who has created the beautifully detailed art for all of Okkervil's Jagjaguwar releases. There's still some ambivalence, however: "I don't know if the hand is sinking or emerging from the quicksand," Schaff says.

The shift in art also reflects the album's left-hand turn. Instead of songs about princesses and stones, the lyrics cite more contemporary examples, such as IMAX cameras and Red Lion hotels. One witty highlight, "Plus Ones," turns love into pop song titles, as Sheff playfully intones: "No one wants a tune about the hundredth luftballoon," name-checking a slew of classics including Nena's "99 Luftballons," R.E.M.'s "7 Chinese Brothers," and the Zombies' "Care of Cell 44."

Even with this newfound liveliness, Sheff is still singing about searching, desperate people: "To me there's a pathos to the record, maybe only I see it. I feel like the record is all about what really breaks my heart."

Sheff is echoing the words of "Unless It's Kicks," his song about the transcendence of music. Sheff says it's a "band anthem," for times when touring has rendered them sluggish and worn, "my attempt to be like, 'Hey guys, just one more mile.' "

At the Providence show this summer, it was strange and beautiful watching the audience yell every word right back at Sheff as he sang: "What gives this mess some grace/ Unless it's kicks, man/ Unless it's fictions/ Unless it's sweat or it's songs."

Sheff's been on both sides of the equation - "I'm the biggest fan," he enthuses, talking about poet John Berryman, the subject of "John Allyn Smith Sails," the glorious finale of "The Stage Names." The audacious song is mordantly funny, at first a strummed biography about a guy whose life is such a failure that he can't even commit suicide that then segues into a spectacular rendition of "Sloop John B," the traditional folk tune made famous by the Beach Boys.

There's empathy in Sheff's work for the musicians, groupies, and fans populating this album - that gives it a real heft free of cliches.

"That's why musicians become musicians," Sheff says, "You're just sort of struck dumb by how much something touched you, and the only reaction you can think of is to try to speak to it in the same language that it used. There's also something very sad about that because it can't speak back."