My approach to music is similar to my approach to food. If it's not poisonous, chances are I'll like it.

I will admit finding some renditions of acid rock, hip-hop and rap to be the musical equivalent of haggis, baloots, and liver - and just about as easy to swallow - but almost everything else is palatable. Although I've tried to stay in touch with modern music and musicians, a couple of age-related problems have made it progressively more difficult for me to enjoy mainstream stars in person.

No. 1: I don't like crowds. Joining several thousand other fans under one roof is a lot like beating my own head with a 2x4, except I have to drive a long way to do it.

No. 2: I don't like loud noise. It's strange. I have trouble hearing people talking, but I hear extraneous noise very well. Other than those two drawbacks, big concerts are fine with me.

In addition, I've become disillusioned with mainstream music of almost every genre. Country music sounds like Cream of Wheat tastes. When contrasted with the artists brought to the local area by the Corvallis Folklore Society and other organizations, mainstream music comes off a poor second best.

The most recent Folklore Society-sponsored artist was Chuck Pyle, a Colorado-based singer-songwriter who is often referred to as the "Zen Cowboy." Spend a couple hours listening to him and it's easy to see why. In addition to his songs, which have been recorded by John Denver, The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, Chris LeDoux, Jerry Jeff Walker and Suzy Bogguss, and which he performs in a folksy, enjoyable fashion, Pyle is a generally witty commentator on the human condition.

He was born in Iowa, "The Land of the Bland." He grew up just across the street from a glue factory. At night, after the lights went off, he and his friends went into the corrals and rode the horses. "It was great," he said. "Of course our favorites came and went."

He loved Iowa, but as the years went by he grew tired of the sameness of the landscape. "It was so flat where I lived," he explained, "you could see the back of your own head."

He loved his mother but as he grew older she became distant. He once asked her what he should do when he grew up. She told him, "Leave home." So he gravitated toward his grandfather, a backcountry sage of wide renown. Among the grandfather's gems of wisdom was this: "Whoever invented 'near beer' was a damn poor judge of distance."

Chuck learned a great deal from the old man but loved him best for his consistent support of his musical efforts. When asked his opinion of a song Chuck had recently written, his grandfather was effusive in his praise: "There have been a lot of songs written and that is definitely one of them."

At some point in his early years Pyle ended up in Colorado, in the San Luis Valley, famous for its cold temperatures. "Agriculture there is pretty much all organic, farmers don't need to spray because none of the pests can survive the winters."

He made good friends there. One, in particular, had poor luck with women. "He used to shave one of his own legs because it made him feel like he was sleeping with someone."

His wanderings took him across the Atlantic. "There I was, a backwoods Colorado boy looking for good Mexican marijuana in Amsterdam." He returned to settle in Colorado, where he has been accused of writing politically charged songs. Untrue, he says: "I only have two political songs … and they're both instrumentals."

I wonder if he'd consider running for president … but only if he never inhaled.

Pat Wray is a free-lance writer and longtime local resident. His general-interest columns can be found in this section on alternating Fridays. He can be reached at patwray@comcast.net.