The smaller New York City gets in the rear view mirror it becomes increasingly evident that the independent music flooding Manhattan’s barrooms is an American musical paradox that doesn’t necessarily reflect the heart of the nation. Our musical tradition wasn’t founded upon post-punk. It was founded upon black soul, boogiewoogie and the stories passed along through Ireland’s immigrating grassroots congregation. They reflected the struggles of the peasants, and they acknowledged the reality of a life that isn’t all white gloves and red carpets. They took the good with the bad while focusing on a revolving message of hope.

As the mountains begin to soar and the countryside approaches, music manifests itself in the form of romping bluegrass ensembles serenading moonlight barbeques. With country driven folk embedding itself in the hills of Carolina, a growing number of artists are looking to America’s oldest tradition for their own transcendent salvation.

The first day of June stood as any other late spring afternoon. Thompson Square Park is littered with lounging bodies and desperate street performers. The Lower East Side still sleeps as the sun prepares to make its descent out of the humidity-laden sky. A short walk off E. Houston St. and down Bowery reveals a secluded eatery, tucked deep in the heart of the buildings, accented by sprawling ivy and an almost Parisian romance.

Sitting at a corner table enjoying a glass of white wine is Jennie Arnau, a singer songwriter of country descent. Arnau’s endeavors have taken her from a small South Carolinian town through the rigors of Nashville’s musical network before plopping her smack dab in the middle of New York City for a writing session that yielded her fourth full-length LP, entitled Mt. Pleasant.

“New York eats you up,” explains Arnau. “I mean, this city will just swallow you to a point where it takes you back to your core. When I first got here I was really scared, and I just kind of hunkered down in my little apartment. I just got into my routine. I wrote a lot and found out a lot about myself because I was spending a lot of time alone in a really huge, monstrous town. My energy became focused.”

Growing up the daughter of an organ player, Arnau’s roots are buried south of the Mason-Dixon. “I picked up the guitar and wanted to learn how to play,” she explains. “I grew up in South Carolina. I was surrounded by all of these finger pickers and grassroots musicians. When I started playing I was very country oriented. My dad was an organ player and an avid fan. He had this massive record collection that I would sit in front of and rummage through as a kid.

“The music scene in South Carolina was basically bands like .38 Special and the Allman Brothers, just a lot of classic Southern Rock, but for some reason I remember it being more country. In the Northern Carolinas there is a different type of scene, more of an indie scene. But where I grew up there was country, from the real country, to the ‘Oh my god country,’” she says as laughter follows.

With her influences ranging from Loretta Lynn to Tori Amos, Patsy Cline, and PJ Harvey she crafted a record of delicately laid compositions injected with the stomp of a funeral for a lost friend.

“I had a lot of personal things going on during the time that I was writing which added to the experience,” she offers. “There were real downers that made me kind of introverted. My producer lived down in New Orleans, and she lost her house to Katrina. She lost everything. This record was a chance for us to dump a lot of creativity in one spot,” adds Arnau. “Things were changing for me as well because I knew I was going to be jobless. There was a lot of tension in my life and I decided to come to New York. My job just caved in on me and I was ready to make a record. It just seemed like a perfect time to go. The diversity is evident between the musicians who are young and the artists that will hop on a train to see what is out there. There are artists who are out roaming, just doing what they do, and they are inspiring because they are timeless in their ethic. Eventually the tide will roll with them and things will work.”

Entitled Mt. Pleasant, Arnau’s effort was released nationwide on June 26. “It was a very open process. It took about eight months to record, which is kind of a long time. We recorded it at Battery Studios, which is part of Jive and Zomba Music Group. The sessions were intimate, just very warm. There was cohesiveness in the message. Basically, ‘shit happens and we can make it through it all, together.’

“I think the idea of music has changed in the ear of the listeners and I think it continues to change. For the first time I have heard people say that they are really not into music,” Arnau says with a baffled tone. “People who have club music on in the background don’t look at music as something that is lyrical or thought provoking. But buried deep under the radar there is still a lot of relevance,” she adds. “There is so much influence embedded in roots music and the Americana musician that it is staggering. It is just that right now music is reflecting the times instead of being timeless.”