It seems that as we sift and sort through all this music, all these mp3s and unlabeled CD-R’s and promos with blacked-out bar codes and notches cut in the spine, all we’re looking for is a voice that articulates that which we want to say but can’t, that which anticipates our feelings and tropes and hang-ups far better than we ever could. Jason Molina of Magnolia Electric Co. (and formerly of Songs: Ohia) is one such kindred spirit, with a dedicated legion of polite, predominantly Midwestern fans who like their country and their rock and their music unpretentious so long as its truthful and passionate.

Molina doesn’t know how to be anything other than himself, and he always circulates the crowd before his shows, clearly admiring the opening act — is this case, the sublime Bottomless Pit, featuring former members of Silkworm who play textured, hypnotizing rock — and Molina ‘s presence does something to democratize the relationship between audience and performer. Tonight, at Chicago’s Lakeshore Theater — and an emphasis on “Theater,” as the venue primarily serves thespians and allows its audience members the pleasure of padded seating — the crowd was so relaxed we didn’t even bother to stand (except to grab a drink; the whispered apologies of those set on the bar only added to the atmosphere). Magnolia doesn’t take that personally, though. Magnolia just plays music.

“It’s good to be home,” says Jason Molina before beginning “Leave the City,” his paean to Chicago and all its complications. Magnolia Electric Co’s setlists are constantly evolving, rarely reaching back more than one album, but “Leave the City” is their “Free Bird;” its lonely trumpet and plaintive lyrics are too perfect for even Molina to pass up. Besides that, the band broke into a number of unreleased tracks (including “What Comes After the Blues,” a song almost as magical as “Leave the City”) and one or two from last year’s Fading Trails. Molina writes songs like it’s his fucking job, and maybe because it’s his fucking job and not his life, each show feels less like a diary entry and more like a gratifying expression of his current artistic being. But enough speculation. Molina was wearing a tye-dye shirt he referred to as his “indie killer,” then joked that he was Michael Landon and bushy-haired lead guitarist Jason Groth was Jeff Lynne.

All this off-the-cuff joking and setlists — “Should we play ‘Twilight?’” Molina could be heard saying to the rest of his band, apparently picking songs out of thin air — were the catalysts for the populist beauty of Magnolia Electric Co. Each song sounds so accidental, with loose improvisation, Molina’s pauses and stressed syllables, screeching guitars and impromptu riffing all building to some rough-hewn tapestry of how perfect and sloppy rock music can be. Without ever seeming obvious, it becomes clear that this is the only time we’ll ever hear this music this good by this band on this night, and we’re already taking it for granted.