There is an upper echelon of storytellers with guitars. Assumed that a singer/songwriter must be living in Nashville or Texas or Dublin, you can be surprised when you meet someone slinging the troubadour anthem from Maine or Vermont. Then you walk up to Kelly Ravin. He's young, he's thin, he's tatooed, and he can sing. He looks like he's been playing all night, for the past 235 nights and only sleeps while drinking beer and driving his truck to the next gig. Perhaps he let's Ron, his border collie, drive. Either way, when he starts picking, or singing, the stories come alive. You meet people you've known before, in a previous life spent fueled on Old Gold and PBR, barely able to hold your head up at 4am, waiting for someone to show up, and lift you to the sanctuary you've been waiting for. Kelly carefully packs all this into 4minutes of a yarn he delivers through the golden rain of his voice and the perfect pitch of his guitar. He made his guitar, with his own hands, the same way he makes his music.

But don't take my word for it.

He's playing in Portland at Empire at 8pm on Tuesday in Portland.

And you can find more about Kelly Ravin at