You know it. I know it. I know you know it. Let's not lie to ourselves. Country music sucks.

Midwestern boy that I am, I've taken in one too many accidental earfuls of Garth Brooks' "The Thunder Rolls" in one too many run-down Dairy Queens to not know country music is in need of a savior.

Modern country isn't even country, really; it's Barry Manilow with a deeper voice, a little unobtrusive steel guitar and a couple forced references to a run-down pickup for atmosphere's sake.

It's soft rock. It's producer-driven fluff. And it's awful.

And sure, there's always "alternative country," just in case you can't go on without a little twang; but aside from a few bright lights (most of them now defunct), most alt-country acts can't really decide if they want to be Dusty in Memphis or just another Bob Wills cover band.

But then, there's The Silver Jews.

Silver Jews are certainly alternative, and they're reasonably country, but their music ain't no old time revival.

If there's any way to describe the sound, the band's masterpiece, 1998's American Water, it's a little bit like Lynyrd Skynyrd and Sonic Youth jamming on Skip Spence's Oar after a slew of poetry lessons and some horse tranquilizers.

In short, it's really not much like anything else you've ever heard.

Led by poet and sometime-singer David Berman, The Silver Jews' ever-changing lineup and almost-as-ever-changing sound can be a little hard to get a hold on from album to album.

American Water's languid Memphis-soul sound is helped out in no small part by band co-founder and renaissance man Stephen Malkmus, he of indie-rock smart-alecks Pavement.

Malkmus infuses American Water with some slinky guitar and plenty of his trademark off-key warble, serving as the ultimate foil to Berman's sunburnt, surrealist, hyper-literate songs and deep-voiced, disinterested delivery.

Oh, and those songs; those songs like no others on earth. The first line of American Water, from the strummy, languid "Random Rules", sets the tone perfectly, as Berman mumbles "in 1984, I was hospitalized for approaching perfection" with a smirk you can almost hear.

The steady gallop of "Smith & Jones Forever" reimagines Johnny Cash's early 60's Americana albums as filtered through Highway 61-era Dylan, while "People" perfectly synergizes both tortured lo-fi wordsmith Smog and an insistent disco beat.

"Blue Arrangements," a gorgeous, lovestruck shout-along, could be the highlight of the album, but it seems like that honor belongs to "We Are Real", taking Willie Nelson on a wild ride through Television's Marquee Moon.

The album closes with "The Wild Kindness", a sublime, sleepy rumination on the possibilities of life that sums up all that is fractured, catchy and brilliant about American Water.

The Silver Jews haven't stopped making extraordinary music--2001's Bright Flight turned the country (and the heartbreak) up a notch with excellent results, and their older records have their unique charms -- but American Water's combination of Berman's best-ever set of songs and Malkmus's slippery guitar heroics makes it the classic it is.

Like country, hate country, don't care either way?

It doesn't matter. American Water has plenty to offer anybody willing to give it a listen.