The first word that leaps to mind when contemplating country-music cult figure Townes Van Zandt is "stark." In English, of course, that can mean desolate, barren, unornamented, or sharply delineated, all apt descriptions for his stripped-down sound. It can also denote the rigidity of death, or a state of utter madness; the Texas singer-songwriter's masterpiece was a 1972 full-length entitled The Late Great Townes Van Zandt, and he was institutionalized, undergoing shock treatment, in his early 20s.

But in German, "stark" has a different meaning: Strong. And that fits, too. There is a tenacious, undeniable power to the songs of Townes Van Zandt that has long resonated among his fellow artists. Country stars Willie Nelson, Merle Haggard, and Emmylou Harris made hits of his originals "Pancho & Lefty" and "If I Needed You" in the early '80s, while rock acts as disparate as Tindersticks, Cowboy Junkies, and Mudhoney have covered his material, too.

This Thursday, December 1, a group of his Seattle disciples—including Mike Johnson (Dinosaur Jr.), Carla Torgerson (the Walkabouts), Ian Moore, Mark Pickerel (Dark Fantastic, Screaming Trees, Dusty 45s), and Eddie Spaghetti (Supersuckers)—will assemble at the Tractor Tavern to pay homage to this enigmatic figure. The show, dubbed High, Low & In-Between: A Musical Tribute to Townes Van Zandt, coincides with the opening of the new documentary Be Here to Love Me (see film review, pg. 85).

Pickerel (who, coincidentally, just signed a solo deal with Bloodshot Records) first learned of Van Zandt when he owned a record store in Ellensburg. "An employee of mine was always playing him in the shop," he recalls. "At first I didn't like him." But then he lent a closer ear to "Two Girls," from the 1993 album The Nashville Sessions. "That's when I recognized his complex talent, and I've been obsessed ever since."

Pickerel has a theory as to why Van Zandt never found widespread fame before his death in 1997. "Townes can sometimes be like that friend that you love, but avoid because he'll call you on your bullshit. If I'm feeling good about myself, he's my best friend who I could listen to for hours or days. But if I'm feeling bad, then I don't want him around, reminding me of my shame, guilt, or regret, because he'll hold the mirror right up to your face and ask, 'Do you like what you see?' Most people listen to music to escape reality, yet with Townes I always end up feeling vulnerable to my most suppressed thoughts and feelings."

Spaghetti, who recalls his buddy Steve Earle once proclaiming Van Zandt "the greatest songwriter who ever lived," distills those sentiments into more succinct language: "His music is just so fucking depressing. Don't get me wrong, there are times when nothing else will do... but no one in their right mind wants to spend that much time being bummed out." Fortunately, one evening with Van Zandt won't kill you—in fact, it will probably make you stronger.

kurt@thestranger.com