"Hometown, the same town blues / Same old walls closin' in / Oh what a life a mess can be / While I'm sitting here thinking of you once again, won't you talk to me?"

Somewhere out of the vast Midwest wasteland that is central Illinois, a new voice appeared at the beginning of the recessed '90s to give form to the hardships of the masses. In a worn-out baritone, he delivered homespun wisdom that would have sounded just fine coming from the mouths of Woody Guthrie or the Famous Carter Family. Fiery Guitars proclaimed the music's urgency with the passion of a late-night television preacher - a passion that the weary singer just couldn't bring himself to muster.

That voice and guitar belonged to Jay Farrar, the lead singer and guitarist for Uncle Tupelo, a band that inspired such fervent passion from its fans that an entire genre took its name from the band's first and best album, No Depression.

Uncle Tupelo played like a young cowboy trying to tame a wild stallion. Technically, the album was a mess of Dinosaur, Husker Du and country influences haphazardly thrown into a big bubbling cauldron. But though No Depression was delivered from the seat of the pants, it gave you its heart on its sleeve. And that's what makes this album so compelling. Later albums would be better, both technically and aesthetically, but No Depression grabs you from the first notes to the last and demands your attention. While college-educated folkies would sing about common folks' plight, Uncle Tupelo was common folks. And their debut album screamed that they were mad as hell and not going to take it anymore.

No Depression was the genesis of third generation country rock, although it sounded almost nothing like Johnny Cash, or even Gram Parsons for that matter. Farrar's voice, intentionally or not, came across like a disaffected punk rocker. Guitars, although often employing country signatures, rage slabs of distortion, while the bass and drums tried to keep up. The result was a mess of guitars, cymbals and bass crashing into one another.

But Farrar's lyrics were not the stuff of alternative rock. He sang of closed factories, clausterphobically small towns and sorrows to be drowned in a bottle of whiskey. To drive the point home further, Uncle Tupelo covered the Carter family's "No Depression," with lyrics such as "I'm going where there's no depression / to a better land that's free from fear" that had a dark resonance 50 years after they were first recorded.

Although Tupelo would ultimately be a two-songwriter band, launching the career of Wilco's Jeff Tweedy as well as Farrar, No Depression is really Farrar's show. Tweedy only contributes four songs, and while they're not bad, they pale in comparison to the aching beauty of a song such as "Life Worth Livin'" (Although it's interesting that the album's first two songs - Farrar's deadly serious "Graveyard Shift" and Tweedy's light "That Year" - provide a virtual blueprint for the pair's entire career paths).

Tweedy in fact, is by far the more innovative of the pair these days. Farrar has almost fallen into self-parody, doomed to repeat the same album time after time with his post-Tupelo outfit, Son Volt. But at a time - specifically, Tupelo's first three albums - Farrar seemed like he would be the second coming of Guthrie or Hank Williams. Unfortunately, Farrar couldn't deliver on No Depression's promise and became a flash in the pan. But what a brilliant flash it was.