He's the same guy, after all, that detailed the harsh economic realities of this country's Northern migration with a hit recording of Mel Tillis and Danny Dill's "Detroit City." Furthermore, his career accomplishments include such treasures as the "Bobby Bare Sings Lullabies, Legends and Lies" album, considered one of the first country music concept albums.

The "Lullabies" CD is a full double album of Shel Silverstein songs, and this project's laser-like focus on one great songwriter's repertoire underscores Bare's unabashed appreciation of the songwriting craft.

Back in the 80s, Bare even hosted a program all about songwriters on the old TNN channel. This was wonderful TV because it took an inside look at the faces behind those names we always read on album credits. It also offered the chance to see and hear songwriters perform works, many of them big hits for bigger stars.

The show also revealed just how much Bare loves and appreciates songwriters. Its focus was never on Bobby Bare, the artist; its spotlight was aimed at the various songwriters, instead. "On that show, the star of the show was the songs," Bare says. "The songs were a major part of people's lives. They can take you back to a certain time, any time. If a song is not great, no matter what you do to it, it's still not going to be great. You can't make somebody like something that is not a hit. Songs are the most important thing. It's hard to get that (truth) past the star's ego, though. But actually, they're second. They're not 'it.' I've always loved songwriters.

In fact, it's Bare's deep love of songs that sometimes gives him trouble with much of today's country music.

"I don't agree with the songs new country radio plays a lot of times," he says. "There's a lot of great songs that come by, but I don't have the patience to sit through a lot of the bubblegum stuff that's directed at younger people. Tim McGraw comes up with some great songs. Garth Brooks, when he was working with Allen Reynolds, came up with some really great songs, like 'The Dance' and songs like that. Those are great songs. But there's not enough of 'em to suit my taste.

Not surprisingly, Bare reaches for the older stuff whenever he's in the mood to sit down and listen to music. "I listen to classic country because you hear a lot of great songs," he says.

That vocal drawl of his makes Bare come off as country as it gets. Nevertheless, he's always been adventurous in choosing the songs he records. Such openness certainly came into play with "The Moon Was Blue" (Dualtone).

Bare applies his low and authoritative voice here to crooner laments like "Yesterday When I Was Young" and "All in the Game." There is a pedal steel undercurrent running through "I Am an Island," and "Everybody's Talkin' at Me" may have a touch of twang to it, but what's the deal with "Love Letters in the Sand," a pop hit for Pat Boone of all people! Oddest of all is clearly the closer, "Fellow Traveler." This track features a polka-like backing band and a children's choir. It also has a cinematic, movie ending credits feel to it, which lingers on the mind long after the song fades out.

The disc was co-produced by his son, Bobby Bare, Jr., along with Lambchop's Mark Nevers. The album features a lot of the unlikely instrumentation we've come to expect from Lambchop-related projects, but it's not at all what you'd call a jarring aural experience.

Instead, this CD is mostly a lush collection of ballads, spiced by a few quirky elements thrown into the mix. Its quirkiness shouldn't surprise you, however. Remember that this same man recorded "Shame on You," one of the first Nashville-made hit records to feature horns.

"I just told Bobby, Jr, 'Keep me out of the music part of it,'" Bare explains. "'I'm just going to sing the songs and let you guys take it and run with it. If I put myself into it, you're gonna wind up with just one more country record that nobody really cares about anymore.'"

Bare is convinced that Bare, Jr. and Nevers enjoyed this experience of working on this album. "They loved it," he notes. "They did some weird stuff in there. It puts a smile on my face because it (the weird stuff) doesn't bother me."

The CD opens with one called "Are You Sincere," which finds Bare's still-strong voice gliding over tinkling piano bar keyboards, sparring with sugar sweetened backing vocals and colored by countrypolitan strings. Its song lyric reveals suspicion about a lover's honesty and loyalty. But there's never any questioning of Bare's sincerity and dedication to his craft. In the hands of lesser artists, songs like "Yesterday When I Was Young" have many times come off overly maudlin. But Bare injects everything he touches with an understated transparency and warmth.

Bare, 70, can well relate to the sentiments about aging expressed in "Yesterday When I Was Young." But while this song is mainly focused on regrets, one imagines Bare doesn't have too many memories as troubling as these. He's been married to the same woman, Jeannie, since 1964; his son, Bobby Bare, Jr., is a successful alternative music artist, and his favorite pastimes these days are fishing and playing with the grandchildren.

"We've got a couple grandbabies," Bare announces proudly. "We've got one that will be a year old in about a week. We've got another that'll be a two-and-half years old." Bare is convinced that he's a wonderful granddad, too. "I'm the world's greatest, because I'm absolutely crazy about the grandchildren. I never realized it could be like this. Anybody that's a grandparent knows what I'm talking about.

Unlike far too many other artists of his era, Bare doesn't have the need or the inclination to tour incessantly. Instead, he relegates his performances to scattered casino and fair dates throughout the year. "I pick and choose," says Bare about his current performance schedule. "But I've earned the right to do that.

And rather than being constricted by the Nashville Music Row business, Bare has made an album with full artistic control, which just goes to show how it really is possible to age gracefully When his son convinced him to record this latest album, he didn't tell him they were going to record a full album, however.

"He didn't say, 'Let's go into the studio and cut an album,' Bare recalls. "He said, 'Why don't you come in the studio and do some stuff with my musicians. I hadn't been in the studio in years. But it was fun -- more fun than I realized. I sat in the studio with a guitar and the band playing with you, instead of you playing with the band. There's a big difference." This positive recording experience will hopefully lead to more new Bare recordings.

"I probably will," says Bare, when asked if he'll record again. "There are a lot of songs that I would love to record.

It's taken a while to for Bare to regain his studio tan, mainly because his prior recording experience is so closely associated with the loss of a few dear friends.

"I went into the studio with a bunch of friends of mine - you know, Mel Tillis, Jerry Reed, Waylon and Shel Silverstein - called the Old Dogs," Bare recalls. "We did that, and almost immediately after we finished - we spent almost a year together doing that album and had loads of fun - then right after that Shel died, which was a real shocker. He was the only one that I knew that ever really took care of himself. He exercised, did yoga, ate right. And I thought he'd live forever. But bang, he was gone. And then right after that, we lost Waylon. So, I just didn't have it in me to go back into the studio.

Bare knows a lot of the folks associated with the whole outlaw country music movement. But a few of these figures are significantly different than their public personas might lead you to believe.

"Waylon was a real pussycat," recalls Bare. "He was never what he looked like and what he was promoted to be, such as an outlaw, ass-kickin' type of a person. He was the kindest person I knew. I'd known him since the beginning. In fact, I got him his record deal at RCA. And he was just a real kind, good person. There was no meanness in him.

"Now Billy Joe (Shaver), you don't wanna mess with him. He's the real deal. He's the real cowboy who will kick your ass. Billy Joe, now he's a great guy. But he's not gonna take anything from ya.

Speaking of outlaws: does Bobby Bare consider himself one of these outlaws?

"I ran with them, but I never considered myself part of it," says Bare, who lived with Nelson when both were struggling to make it. "I mean the outlaw thing was really just a promotion that Neil Reshen, who managed Willie and Waylon at the time right after that 'Outlaw' album really took off, came up with. And he grabbed that title and ran with it. But it was mostly a PR thing. And it was generated by Neal and his wife. You know, they were good PR people; they knew what to do with it."

He's not an outlaw, yet he doesn't quite fit into Nashville's prefab artistic mold, either. Even so, Bare may have room to quibble with the amount of respect (or lack thereof) he's received over the years. This is the same man, after all, that was once signed to the iconic concert promoter Bill Graham's management company back in 1977.

Graham even referred to Bare as the Springsteen of country music. Of course Bare is not nearly the songwriter or the inspirational figure Springsteen is. And really, who is? Nevertheless, his best recordings, such as "That's How I Got to Memphis" and "Detroit City," are just as representative of the common man's plight, as are The Boss' working man's blues. Additionally, Bare was mixing country roots with folk aspirations by recording Bob Dylan songs, way back in the '60s.

It's unlikely Bobby Bare will ever get the respect he truly deserves. He never attained the kind of popularity that Bill Graham's 'Springsteen of country' prediction should have warranted. But you get the impression from talking to Bare that all of this fame stuff doesn't really matter too much to him. This songwriter's advocate with the rich and distinctive singing voice is someone truly special to those in-the-know. So while the moon may indeed be blue, Bobby Bare certainly isn't.