You can always identify the ones who've had to prove themselves. They arrive onstage polished, with a confidence and presence that says they're not fooling around. It didn't matter that it was Tuesday night and that the crowd was modest. Chris Cotton still rocked the house.

Cotton recorded two albums as a founder of the California rural-blues band Blue Eyed Devils, but for this show, supporting his 2005 solo release I Watched the Devil Die, he was backed only by bass and drums. The trio's enthusiastic reception grew in both size and energy over the course of the evening.

One of Seattle's best-loved venues for roots music, the Tractor Tavern has hosted a number of young experimentalists who innovate without losing sight of tradition. Following in this vein, Cotton's stompy, Delta-meets-Piedmont sound is testimony to the itinerant lifestyle that took him from the Bay Area to New Orleans, where he hit the streets as a Jackson Square busker. At the Tractor, Cotton and company mixed periods and styles, keeping the guitar work lively for the better part of an hour. Not inappropriately for a guy who's spent time traveling by boxcar, Cotton's first song was a paean to railroads. The opener was followed by "Blues for Big Bill," a tribute to Big Bill Broonzy, and upon its heels came "Black Night," an urgent, Delta-inflected number.

At this point, Cotton and company caught fire. It's tough to raise the energy when the crowd doesn't quite fill the venue, but Cotton had an ace up his sleeve: strong material. Kicking the pants off Blind Willie McTell's "Dying Crapshooter's Blues" and bouncing through a surprisingly cheerful and upbeat "I Watched the Devil Die," Cotton took ownership of the music with dexterity and authority. The title of the Blue Eyed Devils tune "City Boy/Country Blues" nicely sums up Cotton's sound; his marriage of an urban sense of pace with country-style licks and song structures works well. "I ain't got no money/And I ain't got no time to lose," he sings, and he plays like it.

Despite fiery guitar work and the sense of urgency that permeates his material, Cotton's stage presence was laid-back and inviting. He announced his tour manager's birthday and acknowledged his heroes (most of whom have the word "Blind" in their names). Such examples of Cotton's humility only highlight his accomplishments as a musician. By erring neither on the side of tradition nor of novelty, he remains free to chart his own course.