Boyish-looking Ben Kweller doesn't go around his hometown of Austin calling himself a music biz veteran. But he feels like one. And for good reason. "I've definitely been through a lot and seen a ton for only being 27 years old," the Texan says with a good-natured sigh.

Kweller has distinguished himself in recent years as a top purveyor of indie rock/pop and is now venturing into stoner country. A decade ago, though, he seemed destined to be another victim of the ruthless star-making machine. After all, not too many alt-rock also-rans have much of a career these days — let alone a critically acclaimed one.

Kweller started writing tunes at age 8. By the time he turned 15, his Nirvana-channeling high school band Radish had sparked a major-label bidding war — Silverchair was huge at the time — and signed with Mercury. This resulted in the New Yorker running a 10-page profile titled "Big Ben" that hit newsstands just days before the release of Radish's lone album, 1997's Restraining Bolt. The band also made appearances on Conan and Letterman. But the hype apparently hurt more than helped. The disc bricked, failing to crack the Billboard 200. Publications like Rolling Stone slammed it. "Restraining Bolt smells like teen spirit, all right, but is it the future of rock & roll?" reads the two-and-a-half-star review. "Most of it doesn't sound like the future of anything much." Radish recorded a follow-up album titled Discount Fireworks, but it never saw the inside of a record store. Mercury was swallowed up by Universal, and Radish successfully begged out of its contract. Kweller relocated to New York City and embarked on a solo career. Despite Radish being a flop, he reflects positively on the experience.

"I mean, life is life; everybody has their own journey, and I feel real fortunate," Kweller says from a tour stop in Chicago. "I had such a head start at this music thing. I learned a lot at an early age and through my experiences as a teenager was able to start a successful solo career at 18. Once I moved to New York from Texas, I knew all the bad shit to stay away from and good shit to keep with me. It was a good thing. I'm one of those believers in the 'if it's meant to be' philosophy."

In his Brooklyn apartment, Kweller recorded new material and songs he wrote for Discount Fireworks. His 2000 EP, Freak Out, It's Ben Kweller, impressed Lemonheads frontman Evan Dando, who invited Kweller to open for him on dates across America and Europe. "Touring with him, and spending time one-on-one, was a big deal for me," Kweller says. "Learning from other musicians, it's less about what people tell you and more what you see around you: being with Evan, and playing music with him, and seeing him perform."

But Dando wasn't Kweller's first rock star mentor. Kweller's dad was pals with E-Streeter Nils Lofgren. Another person who left an indelible mark was Joe Walsh. The guitar great came to town with Ringo Starr & His All-Starr Band, and Kweller stuck around after the gig to meet the Eagle. "Grow up good," Walsh told the young boy.

"I liked that," Kweller says.

The Dando tour brought Kweller to the attention of the high-powered publicity firm Big Hassle, which got him signed to Dave Matthews' ATO Records. The label issued Kweller's solo full-length debut, Sha Sha, in 2002. The disc featured the semi-hit single "Wasted & Ready" and won Kweller acclaim for his witty lyrics and ability to leap from Ramones-esque rockers to Elton John-style piano balladry. Its ATO follow-ups, 2004's On My Way and 2006's Ben Kweller, were also well-received alt-rock and power-pop affairs.

But Kweller's upcoming album, Changing Horses, is, well, a horse of a different color. The singer/songwriter went country on this year's excellent EP How Ya Lookin' Southbound? Come In… and promises more heartfelt twang on Horses.

"It kinda runs the gamut from Roger Miller to Hank Williams Sr. to that Leon Russell cocaine-country of the 1970s to Hank Williams Jr. to early-'90s Garth Brooks stuff," Kweller says. "I love all my country."

Not surprising, since it's the music he grew up on. But how will the singer/songwriter justify his embrace of country to a hipster fan base that probably couldn't stomach 10 minutes of a Bocephus blowout?

"Yeah, man, I don't know how to explain the shit that I like or how I even got looped into being a tastemaker hipster dude," Kweller says with a laugh. "I just do my thing, and hopefully that's what people like. All I can tell those people is that country music is real and about real people, and there are a lot of good songs. Of course, you can try and convince someone a certain band is the best, but if it doesn't hit 'em, it doesn't hit 'em."

When Kweller performs at Crowbar on Tuesday he'll front a four-piece replete with a pedal steel player. Next month, he'll team with old pal Conor Oberst for a string of dates. The former child prodigies were drinking pals when both lived in New York. Kweller even did a one-off gig as a member of Bright Eyes. Will the two be partying together? "Well, I'll have my single-malt scotch," Kweller says, "but I can't smoke weed anymore — I get paranoid. I did too much acid, four hits by myself one day. Now I can't smoke."

This article appears in Oct 22-28, 2008.