I have dreams sometimes about an empty stage. An empty stage, a lone microphone, and a packed house. In the dream, I am standing at the microphone singing my heart out, and the packed house is completely still. Not a breath, not a shout, not a scratching chair, not a crying kid, nothing except hundreds of people listening in rapt attention. In the dream there is a sense of fulfillment, of achievement. I’ve reached that sought-after position that allows me to embellish the slightest whisper, knowing that those fans are hanging on to my every last sound.

Last night’s performer at the Showbox, Josh Ritter, brought this dream to life. So, it wasn’t me up there, and the stage wasn’t completely empty—there was a table and a lamp. And the people at the bar weren’t as quiet as they could have been. But it was close enough to the point where I felt true happiness for Mr. Ritter, true knowingness that he has arrived in this coveted dream place, except it is his reality.

He has a passionate growl and a sweet falsetto, and a smile that could light a thousand candles from fifty feet away. His songs are country, or, more to the point, they are the country. Like most of us, Ritter has a growing obsession with our political crisis, ranging from “Girl in the War”’s more typical story, to the strangely romantic nuclear metaphor that is “The Temptation of Adam,” to the epic spiritual journey of “Thin Blue Flame.” The latter song was introduced with a few words, “Because all we have is our hometowns,” revealing one of the consistent foundations in his repertoire. It would be impossible, I think, to see a Josh Ritter show and not come out of it knowing about the small town of Moscow, Idaho, the gravel roads, and something of the color of the sky.

Every songwriter has his hang-ups, his larger elements of organization that comprise a key part of his identity. Wolves were everywhere last night. Wolves were in the lyrics, they were in his vocal chords, and they were in his wild locks, backlit by the stage lighting in a Dylanesque imitation that would not belie Ritter’s intentions, I am sure. I don’t know if it’s a manifestation of uncertainty and fear, or if it’s a reverent homage to his country childhood, or both. Probably both, if I had to guess, because the beauty often lies in the paradox.

One of my favorite lyrical quirks has to be the ability to repeat a word in a line and have it mean something completely different. Josh Ritter is a champ. Here are a few examples:

“Because the keys to the kingdom got lost inside the kingdom.”—Girl in the War

“The land is too changed to ever change.”—Wings

“Talking like the night could last all night.”—Me & Jiggs

And one more thing. Josh Ritter goes beyond my own dream scenario, oftentimes eliminating the microphone and even the entire amplification system for a completely acoustic moment or two. Several times during the performance he stepped away and sideways from the mic, reminding us that we were just people in a room, listening to a guy sing and play his guitar. And as I have seen him do before, he ended the encore with an Irish song and glass of whisky—no instrument. In my book, that’s even better than the dream that I had. It’s like a camp fire.