"There's nothing worse," says Daryl Fleming, "than that stereotypical leftist preachy-ness that's associated with folk music."

Whether or not you agree with that point, there's no denying that the Pittsburgh-based singer/songwriter puts a fresh spin on the longstanding partnership between folk music and politics. For his lyrics, Fleming draws inspiration from sources like the writings of 18th-century philosophers Bernard de Mandeville and David Hume - not exactly the stuff of typical coffeehouse/bar chatter. Fleming also makes explicit references to political figures such as Ron Paul and Jimmy Carter in his song titles, but prefers to write from an ironic perspective. His song "Ron Paul," for example, is intended as "double double-irony," he says. And lyrics where Fleming suggests the futility of third parties and even voting itself can be taken a number of ways. Even the most politically astute listeners, then, should have a hard time gauging where he's coming from.

And that's exactly what Fleming wants.

"I certainly have my own values," Fleming says. "But I'm not trying to espouse any particular thing. If you talk to me over beers, I might tell you. But musically, it's not my mission to be didactic, and I hope it doesn't come off that way. When I start playing around and being ironic, it confuses it to a point where you're not sure what my values are."

Fleming sums up the basic thrust of his work with a question: "Who are we - as a nationality, as a people?," he asks. "You can engage these questions in music, expand the subject matter without freaking people out."

If it sounds like Fleming's elliptical lyrics burden the music, surely some listeners will find that they do. And Fleming accepts that. So how much does he expect people to get what he's trying to say?

"Not too often," he says. "There's a few people that come up to me after shows. But I'm still trying to get more nuanced and deep in my understanding of politics myself."

Fair enough, but Fleming, with his master's degree in social studies education and voracious appetite for history, is off to a pretty good head start. But, for listeners who don't connect with his ideas, he offers one word: melody. And melody - along with harmony, texture, and feel - is where Fleming and his bandmates hit a bullseye, regardless of his political convictions.

A relative newcomer to folk, Fleming originally emerged in Pittsburgh's burgeoning avant-garde jazz scene. He spent the 90's contributing mightily to the chaotic, rambunctious caterwaul of the Water Shed 5tet and then, toward the end of his decade-long tenure in that group, began to feel like he needed to have a more immediate connection to what he was playing.

"Jazz," Fleming says, paraphrasing author Edward Abbey, "is the music of interior spaces. Country music is outdoor music. When you listen to jazz, you think you're in a city. In your mind, the imagery is urban. It's architecture. There's rooms."

On the other hand, Fleming says, roots-based forms like country and folk are about communication between people. Fleming - who still plays experimental music - had been flirting with folk as a listener and was growing more impatient as certain types of experimentation were starting to seem gratuitous to him. As an audience member, he sometimes felt distanced from the performers. He remembers one performance in particular by a drummer whose name he won't divulge.

"He was squeaking his chair and playing that!," Fleming says. "He had a solo where the rest of the band stopped and he was wiggling on his chair. In that year, that was like the fourth time I'd seen a drummer improvise on his squeaky chair. And I was like, ‘Fuck this! I can squeak my chair!'"

But with the reedy piano-guitar-violin opening of "Third Party," the first song on Fleming's latest album, "The Blockhouse & Bloodhound Sessions," a decade's worth of creative searching dissolves in one dreamy instant.

"Perhaps," Fleming says, "you tire of constantly trying to break boundaries and just play music. There's a definite place for challenging people's expectations - and your own - but maybe that doesn't consume all of my time anymore."

Though he has recorded two previous albums as a leader in the folk mold, "Blockhouse" stands apart from those other works. For starters, Fleming and his backing players took a loose, spontaneous approach to recording. Fleming introduced the music to the other musicians more or less on the spot, and all the music was recorded live in one take with everyone playing together. While the prevailing sense of ease in the room comes through your speakers, the album captures Fleming scaling new heights of elegance and craft. As the best folk music arguably does, Fleming and his bandmates hit on that intangible magic where they successfully evoke another time, yet create a timeless space for present and past to fold into one.

The convincing quality of the music is all the more striking when you consider that several of Fleming's musical cohorts are, like him, experimental-music veterans. Pianist David Bernabo, who appears in Rochester as part of Fleming's re-vamped lineup, sounds just as adept supplying Fleming with old-time piano as he does going berserk on his own spastic, wildly eclectic post-modern electronica.

Nonetheless, Fleming doesn't worry about authenticity.

"I never wanted to be authentic," he says. "All I wanted to do was to listen to this music with my heart - and then mess with it."

Daryl Fleming

w/Lobster Quadrille, DJs Ishumael and Schwindler

Saturday, June 6

The Bug Jar, 319 Monroe Ave.

9 p.m. | $6 | 454-2966

myspace.com/darylfleming