Before seeing him live, Ray LaMontagne existed in a vacuum for me. I had picked up his debut album, “Trouble,” a year ago and practically wore the disc out. I never read any reviews of his performances or interviews with him, though. Not on purpose, but just because his music seemed to say everything I needed to know.

I expected a certain amount of seriousness from Ray because of the weighty soulfulness his songs carry. And he definitely gave a serious vibe when he first walked on stage and picked up his guitar with barely a nod for the applause filling the room. His hat pulled down low over his eyes, Ray barreled through the first three songs, his raspy voice, a mix of booming insistence and quiet pleading, echoing through The Music Hall.

This guy, I thought, is super-intense.

But Ray soon loosened up, and in between tuning his guitar and singing, he shyly bantered with the audience, revealing a wry, self-deprecating sense of humor that doesn’t quite make it into his music. He told us that he felt restless and itchy (to which a female audience member shouted, “I’ll be itchy with you, Ray!”), and sighed heavily while deciding the next song to play. By the show’s halfway point, we all knew about Ray’s pre-show herbal activities, as well as the hotel room he stayed at for months on end in Hollywood (Room 316 at the Best Western off Franklin Avenue, for those keeping score). Ray wasn’t so much performing for the audience as he was just hanging out with us. This makes me comfortable enough to refer to him by his first name. It also makes me want to pop his album back into my CD player and listen a little more closely for that shy, nervous humor he revealed.