What does the word "Nashville" evoke for you? The epicenter for all things country? A musical Mecca where hungry young songwriters can commune with industry royalty? A hotbed of creative synergy? Sorry, but on top of being an ugly town, Nashville is none of these things. When Lucifer is not cruising Ventura Boulevard or speed-dialing Kid Rock, he is in Nashville, Tennessee trying to figure out how to get She-Daisy some of that serious Dixie Chicks coinage. Only recently is contemporary country music collapsing under its profound blandness as it avoids taking risks. Songs that are written by committees and test-marketed may score spots on NASCAR commercials or Disney soundtracks, but they hardly measure up to the works of, say, Johnny Cash or Conway Twitty. Truth is, nothing good comes out of Nashville except some sneaky indie rock and the rare songwriter who refuses to get mixed up with the sordid economics of country music.

That Josh Rouse, a talented and honest songwriter, actually comes from Nashville is a surprise. As mediocre and cowardly as his peers often are, Rouse has delivered his second album of direct and engaging songs in Home. Rouse's songs are deceptively simple, tracing similar territory to Freedy Johnston and Lucinda Williams. But, filtered through his tasteful band, the three- or four-chord tunes become fleshed out treasures. The record's opener, "Laughter," follows the thoughts of an insecure narrator as a simple drum shuffle leads to a muted guitar cycle and Rouse's fragile vocals. When a clever Motown-like horn figure creeps into the bridge, the effect is astounding. Likewise, on "Directions," one of Home's few up-tempo songs, Rouse's uncomplicated tune is made into a rousing comparison between drug-induced slacking and suburban complacency.

One of the joys of finding a credible American songwriter is being able to shamelessly wallow in a good batch of sad songs. Like Mark Eitzel and Joe Pernice, Rouse often centers his records around wonderfully miserable songs. While Rouse's songs don't sink to the depths of some of the best sad rock, he does have his moments. "100M Backstroke" takes Rouse's favorite theme of indecision to a heartbreaking low. Even when Rouse pulls a mood swing, his band seems to save the proceedings from getting too glum. His drummer, David Gerhke, is especially adept at avoiding flagrant despair.

Home is not without its faults. "Afraid to Fail" is the classic ninth song on a ten-track album. The song, especially the unremarkable verses, sounds unfinished and is buried deep into the second side. Also, Rouse has a tendency to come off as guarded. Working in a medium in which emotional clarity and honesty are paramount, his lyrics are at times vague. To be sure, these are small problems and Rouse is young. But if Nashville is to learn anything from Josh Rouse, it is that in order to create great songs, you must take risks and be prepared to fall short.

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