In 1960 the Louvin Brothers, arguably the greatest country duo of all time, released an album on Capitol banefully entitled Satan Is Real. The cover art has become something of a kitsch classic. It features in the foreground Charlie and Ira Louvin dressed in incandescent white suits, pastel pink shirts and dark square-bottom ties striking gawky poses, arms outstretched in a come-to-Jesus gesture. Behind them is a pile of styrofoam-looking rock debris interspersed with fakey bursts of flame. And in the background, the masterstroke: a 10-foot cardboard cutout of the Evil One himself, a cartoon rendering of the devil–complete with horns, slanted eyes, a pitchfork and horrendously gapped fangs–that is so cheesy, so garish, so crude, it wouldn't pass muster with the animators of South Park.

Razor & Tie, the label that issued When I Stop Dreaming: The Best of the Louvin Brothers, thoughtfully includes a reproduction of the Satan Is Real cover art in their definitive collection of the Louvins' work, which includes examples of their frankly conservative theology like "Broadminded" ("That word broadminded is spelled S-I-N") and "The Family Who Prays"; murder ballads and apocalyptic visions like "Knoxville Girl," "Wreck on the Highway" and "The Great Atomic Power"; juxtapositions of romantic longing and a desire to live clean like "I Wish It Had Been a Dream" and "While You're Cheating on Me" ("While you're cheating on me I'm praying for you") as well as more standard gospel and country fare like "Cash on the Barrelhead," "My Baby's Gone," "River of Jordan" and the Carter Family's "The Kneeling Drunkard's Plea."

Now, in a coincidence so wild that it must have been predestined, Razor & Tie has just brought out Secret South, the new album from 16 Horsepower, who have more of a claim on the religious spirit, if not their kitschier elements, of the Louvins than anybody else in pop music. Among the new generation of roots music 16 Horsepower has the theology to back up the imagery. Their frontman, David Eugene Edwards, really does believe Satan is real.

Edwards cut his teeth on traditional country, gospel and Appalachian music, and those influences were very much in force on 1996's Sackcloth 'n' Ashes. On 1998's Low Estate he married that antique sound to newfangled West Coast indie rock. Secret South, a touch mellower, less rollicking, recovers something of a balance between the two. The traditional "Wayfaring Stranger" sounds like it could have been lifted straight out of the Folkways anthology, and "Burning Bush" and "Silver Saddle" sound for all the world like Nick Cave in one of his less frantic moods, on The Boatman's Call for example. Their version of Dylan's "Nobody 'Cept You" is almost a pop love song. "Clogger," "Cinder Alley" and "Splinters" are the only tunes that turn the tempo up.

The total effect, on all three records, is kick-ass. The polished antiquarianism is so retro it would have seemed timely during the Civil War. But it rocks so hard that you would have only heard it in the South (of course), perhaps at a barn dance or a traveling freakshow or a tent revival. This is music for moonshining and snake handling. The lyrics are still chock-full of righteous wrath, from which Edwards doesn't dare except himself: "I'll be there right beside you, in judgment, on my knees." He delivers this line in a banshee wail, one of his two vocal settings, the other being tight-lipped deadpan: "I know dark clouds gonna gather 'round me/I know my way will be rough and steep." The brooding tone of Edwards' music often throws critics off. They don't know if he's demonic or divine. When I spoke to him he said that the confusion is part of the point. He is decidedly a man at war with the dark forces in himself, and it's not always easy to tell them apart from his better angels. The ambivalence is expressed in his cryptic references to an unnamed "he." You need a heavy reference Bible by your side to tell whether "he" is Jesus or Satan. On "Cinder Alley" Edwards testifies: "Yes and he did find thee/and with bruised hands he did unbind thee," where "he" is the Savior. But then a few tracks later, "he" is (maybe) the Antichrist: "Who is it now that loves ya? Strait in the front door and crooked out the back/Who is it now you pray to?" Again: "He waits patient in our prayers unprayed." Is that God waiting for us to seek him out, or is it the devil lurking in the shadows of our spiritual failure?

For every moment of ambiguity, though, there is a corresponding moment of frankness. The chorus, "All the earth awaits thee/all the stones they will cry out/and every tongue confess thee" is lifted pretty much straight out of Scripture. By Edwards' own admission, not everyone one wants to hear his brand of hellfire and brimstone preaching. But if you know what's good for you, you'll take it, and you'll like it.

16 Horsepower plays the Knitting Factory on Sept. 23.