You know a singer/songwriter has the right stuff when master storyteller Nick Hornby--the British author of High Fidelity and About a Boy--gives his seal of approval. "He's good, really good," Hornby has said of San Francisco bard Jesse DeNatale, a former West Marin resident.

It's an opinion shared by ex-U.S. poet laureate Billy Collins, Pulitzer Prize-winning novelist Michael Ondaatje, folk legend Ramblin' Jack Elliott and hipster songsmith Tom Waits.

And a small, but fiercely loyal, legion of fans.

Last weekend, DeNatale--who appears this weekend at the Mill Valley Fall Arts Festival--performed for two nights beneath the high rafters of Toby's Feed Barn in downtown Point Reyes Station. Fans braved the late summer chill to sit on bales of aromatic hay and watch DeNatale perform songs from 2006's critically acclaimed Soul Parade and 2003's Shangri-La West--finely crafted collections of folk, piano ballads, chamber-pop and Americana that drew favorable comparisons to Waits, Greg Brown and Van Morrison.

DeNatale is an engaging performer. At Toby's, he cut a Chaplinesque figure, sporting a thin mustache and clad in a crushed gray fedora, rumpled black Western-style shirt and baggy charcoal-gray trousers. Backed by a tight four-piece band, he alternated between a baby grand piano (barely visible behind the sheet music) and center stage, where he sang in a raspy tone and strummed an old Guild acoustic guitar, a mostly neglected harmonica rig slung around his neck.

He shared self-effacing jokes between songs and spun tales sometimes filtered through a dark comedic lens. His stony banter and everyman demeanor bolster his appeal. His songs, Ondaatje has noted, are a mix of "rough and tender." He has a poet's heart and a simple, sensitive approach to such complex topics as romance, the struggles of raising a family, the broken legacy society is leaving teens, and the ethereal nature of dreams.

DeNatale's hook-heavy songs echo his bohemian roots. Before moving to Terra Linda, his family lived in San Francisco. His father worked as a bartender at the fabled Blackhawk jazz club, his mother was a singer and his uncles were prizefighters.

DeNatale has family ties to the West Marin community--he used to live and work there. His lyrics suggest he spent time there sorting out the hard knocks that inform some of his songs.

On "The Bell," he uses his uncles' background in the boxing ring as a metaphor for those battles. "So when I get knocked down," he sings, "I get back up--almost every time, always by myself."

Behind DeNatale's world-weary vocals and bemused smile is the vulnerability of a guy who seems to have tripped through hell, pulled the devil's tail and returned to tell about it. His songs acknowledge human frailty ("The Follies of Don Calandro"), urge the listener to rise above obstacles ("Keep on Walkin'") and share a knowing wink with a fellow traveler on life's dusty road ("Dreamer's Holiday").

Sure, lots of artists have stared into the abyss, but few walk away with their sense of humor intact and the ability to captivate an audience perched for two hours on prickly hay bales on a chilly night on the cusp of autumn.

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