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It's an odd relationship that Canadian singer-songwriter Fred J. Eaglesmith has with his fans.

The lot of them — from the casual listeners to the diehard ones who consider themselves one of his "Fredheads" — take his music seriously. Too seriously, at times. Take "Dusty," the album he released in 2004, for example. By using more modern production techniques, including a drum machine, Eaglesmith incurred their ire.

"I took a lot of abuse for 'Dusty,' which I was prepared for, but now, it's gone around the other way," Eaglesmith told The Daily Times this week. "Now, people tell me it's their favorite record. At the time, I didn't realize 'Dusty' was going to be such a stretch for people. I had no idea — I thought it was right down the middle, but I don't think people could deal with me using modern production on this traditional music.

"My fans don't like to move very fast. I was going, 'Let's go here,' and they were saying, 'No, no, we don't want to go there.' But that's OK. If you're going to be a real artist, you have to be prepared to take it. One thing that's good about my fans is that at least they're not lemmings. They'll tell me if they think it sucks, which is better than them loving me just because I'm Fred. If they reject an album, I sort of go, 'Too bad for you,' but I also have respect for them for saying, 'We're not going with you on this one,' even if I do think they're wrong."

That's the thing about Eaglesmith — he may not record music by way of democracy, but at least he listens to his fans, which is more than can be said for a lot of artists. That comes from years of hard work — Eaglesmith and his five-man band/crew have traveled the backroads and big cities of America and Canada for two decades, playing hard-driving, rocking, pleading Americana, sort of a hybrid between Hank Williams Sr. and The Rolling Stones. They have no record rep, and they load and break down their own equipment.

Traveling has always been a muse for Eaglesmith. Growing up on farms in southern Ontario, he'd hopped freight trains throughout the Midwest and back by the time he was 16, when, captivated by country-rock radio stations skimming across the waters of the Great Lakes, he decided to be a musician.

It took a while, and for years, Eaglesmith toiled in his native country after recording his first self-titled album in 1980. He's done only 12 other albums over the past 22 years (13 counting 2001's live effort, "Live in Santa Cruz: Ralph's Last Show"), including his most recent, "Milly's Cafe," released last year.

Over the years, Eaglesmith has become the blue-collar equivalent of Bruce Springsteen, painting pictures of the men and women he walks among, and shedding light on an ever-changing country. He's had 30 or 40 cuts by minor artists, plus major cuts by The Cowboy Junkies, Chris Knight, Dar Williams, Kasey Chambers and James King. Film director Martin Scorsese has used his songs, as have various other Hollywood movers and shakers, including James Caan in his movie "Viva Los Nowhere."

"Milly's Cafe," by Eaglesmith's reckoning, is a "safe" record — and not necessarily one of his best.

"It's OK — I don't think it's my best," he said. "My career is one where I can make a risky record and survive it, but I don't know if I could do two in a row, though. With 'Dusty,' I had written all of these songs, and I had enough for a follow-up where the stories were along the same lines. So with 'Milly's Cafe,' I toned the production way down, because I don't think I can get away with making two in a row the way I did with 'Dusty.'

"I've gotten a little BS on 'Milly's Cafe,' but generally people like it. It's funny, because my safe records are nominated for awards and getting played, but if I'm throwing record out there that nobody likes, it feels like I'm breaking down walls. That being said, though, there's nothing wrong with making a solid record."

Fredheads concerned with Eaglesmith's departures from the norm, however, should probably prepare themselves for his next album. Currently in the production stage, Eaglesmith said it veers away from his traditional Americana sound perhaps more sharply than ever.

"It's more based on the Southern gospel culture, going all the way down to the snake churches," he said. "I was raised in a real sort-of cultish religion, and it's coming out. I'm into that, the black gospel stuff, right now, and it sure is fun.

"It feels like the right thing to be into for me. Every album these days seems to be an Americana album — everybody is playing our music now, and the more people who play it, the more it gets watered down.

"I just get tired of it. This gives me an avenue to say, 'I'm going to do this now.'"

And no matter what the critical response to the next album may be, the Fredheads will line up to get their hands on it. Some will hate it, for sure; most will devour it enthusiastically, ruminate on it obsessively and discuss it endlessly on Internet message boards. (They rarely come up to Eaglesmith in person and give him a piece of their mind, he added.)

And in the end, a few years down the road and a few more miles on his old beat-up van, the record — whatever it's called — will be hailed as a masterpiece. Fans, some of the very ones who despised it when it first came out, will lavish it with praise and claim that Eaglesmith is ahead of his time — something they've been saying for years.

"It's like my album '50-Odd Dollars,'" he said. "When I put that out, it just got creamed. But now everybody is playing that record. Usually I am a little ahead of my time, and I guess that's better than being behind."