Uncle Tupelo knows a thing or two about exorcising demons. No Depression, the debut album by the Belleville, Illinois, trio, was one of the loudest, loneliest wails in recent memory to arise from the Midwest's recession-plagued plains. With Still Feel Gone, its stirring second outing. Uncle Tupelo has proven itself to be the poetic voice of small-town isolation and smoky-barroom imprisonment.

While Still Feel Gone lacks some of the crunch of its predecessor, the band has not sacrificed its power by stripping away a layer or two from its country-grunge anthems. Vacillating between poignant acoustic balladry and full-tilt punk energy, Uncle Tupelo still comes off as equal parts Gram Parsons and Gang Green.

The characters that populate Still Feel Gone are far from one-dimensional caricatures of rural life. Songwriters Jay Farrar and Jeff Tweedy write with an insightful eye and ragged beauty that bring their images alive without coming off as rote shrieks of youthful disenchantment. On "Still Be Around," Farrar growls about a life "when the Bible is a bottle and a hardwood floor is home/When morning comes twice a day or not at all," and the listener is instantly drawn into his world.

The band's other ace in the hole comes from the contrasting vocal styles of Farrar and Tweedy. While Tweedy sings with a pop-perfect boyish lilt, Farrar's powerful rasp sounds like he's been gargling with Wild Turkey since puberty. The balance of innocence and hardedged rawness helps give Uncle Tupelo an emotional range reminiscent of the glory days of Hüsker Dü's Bob Mould and Grant Hart.

A first-rate example of the power of no-frills production and direct expression, Uncle Tupelo's work stands as a testimonial to what can be accomplished with drums, guitar, bass and plenty of focused frustration. It would be a crime if the band's screams from the factory belt went unheard.

Still Feel Gone is available from Rockville Records, P.O. Box 800, Rockville Centre, NY 11571. (RS 626)

CHRIS MUNDY