Ray LaMontagne: how does a former carpenter score one of the most talked-about debut albums in music? By nailing basic human emotion

"It's easy for me to get lost in the shuffle," admits singer-songwriter Ray LaMontagne. "It's hard to put me anywhere: I don't fit on the radio, and I certainly don't fit any image. Formulas don't apply to me."

Indeed, LaMontagne's appeal remains decidedly individual. Critics have tried to fashion him into a tortured working-class hero. ("Thank you for not asking me about my troubled childhood or working in a Maine shoe factory," LaMontagne says.) Still, he remains evocatively elusive, as proven by his new album, Till the Sun Turns Black (RCA). LaMontagne's 2004 debut Trouble established him as a melancholic troubadour whose sandpapery soul-folk musings earned comparisons to everyone from Jeff Buckley to Van Morrison. But the inner pain in LaMontagne's voice proved all his: Those demons are still following him, and maybe a few more have joined in for the ride. As such, Till the Sun Turns Black proves even more shadowy and introspective, filled with smoky, cinematic confessionals that venture unafraid into LaMontagne's dark places. It's difficult to imagine a more tragically beautiful song than the album's opener "Be Here Now" or a more sad one than "Lesson Learned."

"Songs for me are always working through something," says LaMontagne. "I don't usually reach for the guitar when I feel great. Those songs were starting to kill me, but they're out of my head now. Music is wonderful in that way. I'm just waiting for another melody or lyric that will put me in that place. But it's not up to me. Pretty much, I have to wait; I can't just dial it in."

Matt Diehl is a contributing music editor at Interview, Special thanks: THE FRYING PAN.

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