Johnny Never and John Colgan-Davis, who perform and record as Brother John, have conjured up something that feels at once like a field recording, early folk blues, and merry 1920s pop. These are not, however, what would become known as "covers" in the later history of popular music. With a single exception, they do not recreate other people's songs, though you may need a scorecard to determine as much. While Never and Colgan-Davis were not present at the creation, they may as well have been.

True, they do show off a version of "Dirt Road Blues," originally sung and recorded by the Delta legend Charlie (or Charley; spellings vary even on his 78s) Patton. This is an ur-Mississippi blues known under a multiplicity of names. Some decades ago the ethnomusicologist David Evans wrote an entire book, Big Road Blues, on the song's wide influence on prewar blues. His starting point is Tommy Johnson's famous 1928 disc cited in the title. It is not a particularly thin volume, either.

The other dozen cuts sound about as traditional as any can be if actually imagined and written not that long ago. The instrumentation is out of another era -- acoustic guitar, harmonica and slide guitar, with occasional contributions (piano, bass, percussion, harmonies) from passing friends. Though often dreamed from fragments of classic downhome blues (incorporating quotes from older melodies and words), these are not rough, faux-Delta anthems. The vocals owe more to the smooth Piedmont styles of Brownie McGhee, Blind Boy Fuller and associates.

Prominent among the material's assorted charms is its occasional goofiness. "Old Man Mose" is not unique in being a murder ballad; homicidal narratives are ubiquitous in American roots music. But it is unusual, even unsettling, to experience one as a comic song, in what could be a century-old Gothic social comedy. "New Sovereigns Blues," a political commentary on our appalling moment in mis-history, sounds like what might result if Robert Johnson and Big Bill Broonzy boarded a time machine together, arrived in this unhappy era, and summed up what they saw in the musical language they knew.

Black Crow, far from just another blues album, is yet more evidence that if you know what you're doing, you can make something fresh and fun out of what should be worn-out components. When the effort is working as well as it is here, the older elements are not imitation but the most welcome kind of inspiration.