Jeffrey Silverstein is home. His third full-length album, Doggone, is evidence of that long-journeyed fact.

Meeting at the intersection of the loner-folk, cosmic country and kraut-laden choogle, from Doggone’s opening pulse of rhythms to its closing cascade of synths, listeners encounter a musician fully rooted in the creative community around him and firmly held by the life he’s built over the last decade.

Where his past several releases saw the New Jersey native settling into life in the Pacific Northwest – observing, appreciating, getting the lay of the land – and finding his footing in the alt-Americana sphere into which he unexpectedly fell, with Doggone, he’s immovable, intentional, and most of all, at peace.

“Not only do I have community, but I feel it all around me,” the artist shares of his life now, in Portland, Oregon, “and I'm able to reap the benefits of having that community.”

That initial realization left him feeling a little awestruck, ultimately lending to the name of his new work. While the expression, “doggone,” exists on a spectrum – the declaration can be used to signal anything from pulse-hammering irritation to cloud-climbing pleasure – Silverstein’s latest project falls squarely in the middle, at that amorphous place where “doggone” becomes a proclamation of pleasant surprise.

“I feel like some of the only things that make sense to me currently, in the world, are music and taking care of community,” he says, adding how his own contentment at home led him to seek out other examples in which art and camaraderie have converged.

He trained his eye on the oft-forgotten, windswept expanses, spying the oddities and splendor of Highway America that eventually led him to the Hat n’ Boots landmark that graces the cover of Doggone. While the art installation is planted firmly in Seattle, Washington’s Oxbow Park now, the very existence of the longtime roadside attraction is all thanks to an act of a devoted community, who fought to save the once-crumbling sculpture and helped to restore it to its former vibrancy.

Committed to further nurturing his local circle, he called upon a faithful group of Portland-based collaborators, a rolodex of heroes-turned-friends, like producer-composer Ryan Oxford (Y La Bamba, Rose City Band), bassist Alex Chapman, and drummer Dana Buoy (Akron/Family).. Together they gathered at the Center for Sound, Light and Color Therapy to record Doggone, which was then mastered by Amy Dragon (of Big Thief, Nathaniel Rateliff and Moon Duo credit).

He also left plenty of room for others to be welcomed into the fold, with pedal steel savant Rick Pedrosa, freak folk hero Devendra Banhart, and Portland’s own Merle Law appearing on the collection.

Together, they gave shape to that formless feeling of winding up exactly where you’re meant to be. Call it comfort, call it kismet – what resulted was nine tracks backlighting life, love, and purpose, like doggone wonders held up to the light. The album explores themes of community, aging, carving out your own version of success, planting seeds and growing roots, and the impact of place on creative work.

It all begins with “Coming Back Around.” The opener is immersive, not like a cannonball crash but rather an exploratory toe dip into the breezy arias and plush grooves that follow. Moving through the haze of the tune’s heartbeating tempos and blustery steel, Silverstein’s words are sparse but prolific, his lyrics a friendly reminder that “the door is always open / and the beer is always cold.”

Much of Doggone unfolds in this way. The compositions are ambient and expansive, shaded by pillowy cadences and silken strings or warped from sonorous keys and caustic synths. Occasionally, Silverstein’s languid croon, equally eloquent and nonchalant, parts the dreamlike gauze as if merely checking in.

“I say my piece and then clear out again,” the musician explains of his brevity. “I think part of that is making space for the other musicians and lyrics to shine and my voice to come through.” It’s a skill that he says has become instinctual with each new release.

As a result, tracks like the strutting “Drop of a Dime” and the nimble “Amblin’” are given the space to stretch their bones. Buoy’s drums swing, crash, and pitter-patter undampened, as Chapman’s bass saunters in stride. Pedrosa’s pedal steel and guitar gnash and groan with abandon, with Silverstein’s voice acting as a sage guide throughout.

The Devendra Banhart-backed “Out of Tune” lays the foundation for a love song, providing the mind with the soft edges and ample light for a familiar figure to take shape. In a similar way, the Merle Law-assisted “Realize” offers a comforting hand, rather than guard rails, through this often arduous existence.

Just as Silverstein says so much with so little, he also knows when words are not needed at all. Doggone features a handful of instrumentals that are equally meditative, the full-bodied “Portland Works” and heady “Patchouli” both forging lavish depths.

An educator and journalist by day, he puts his time outside of school to good use. As he’s learned to navigate the push and pull of work and art, intention drives every note of his songwriting.

But for Silverstein, there are few joys greater than making music. That’s how it’s been since his youth in the suburbs of New Jersey, where he formed his first band. After getting off of the school bus at the end of the day, he would grab his guitar and walk up the hill to his best friend’s house for practice. As he recalls, “That was the best feeling then.”

After some time making music with the Baltimore-based collective Secret Mountains and releasing projects as the Brooklyn-based duo Nassau, Silverstein made his way to the Pacific Northwest. Today, his drummer lives just down the road, and the journey to band practice is, once again, just a walk away. “I've just been chasing that high this entire time,” he says. Now that he’s finally caught up to it, “doggone” is truly the only word that seems fit.