As one of the iconic songwriters of the 1960s, and certainly of his generation, Jimmy Webb has written hits for Glen Campbell (“By the Time I Get to Phoenix,’’ “Wichita Lineman’’), Richard Harris (“MacArthur Park’’), and the 5th Dimension (“Up, Up and Away’’). Webb is the guy whose songs you probably own but as performed by someone else.
In recent years, Webb, 65, has put the spotlight back on his skills as a performer, playing solo shows armed with just a piano, a dense catalog of classics, and amusing stories about his adventures as one of pop music’s most overlooked figures.
Webb even reimagined some of his signature tunes on a country-tinged album, 2010’s “Just Across the River,’’ which featured such guests as Billy Joel and Willie Nelson. It was such a success that Webb says he is already in the process of recording its sequel.
In advance of tonight’s show at the Bull Run in Shirley, Webb recently talked to the Globe from his home in Oyster Bay, N.Y.
Q. It was a pleasant surprise to hear you find new ways to interpret some of your best-known songs on your last album.
A. Well, it’s my last visit to some of these songs. But I had never done a country album before, and I don’t claim that it’s a country album, but it certainly floats country. It was the most successful record I’ve ever had. The record company came back to me and asked me to do volume two. I think my next record will be all original songs. I’m very proud of what I’ve got in hand. I’m anxious to demonstrate that I can still write a cohesive album of songs.
Q. I read that you once had a fear of performing in public. How did you overcome that?
A. The problem was that my stage fright was interfering with my performance. Audiences weren’t really getting Jimmy Webb. They were getting scared and fragmented and defective Jimmy Webb. In a way, it led to my romance with Old Jack [Daniels], who was a good friend for many, many years. A couple of bourbons before the show, and I would think all was well. I thought I was actually doing better when I had a couple of drinks in me. It took me a long time to realize that I only thought it was better. Audiences pick up on everything. It’s like a big bear, the audience. It’ll eat you! If it knows you’re scared, it’ll eat you twice as fast.
Q. What’s your relationship with your audiences now?
A. It’s wonderful. People will come up to me and ask me to sign a record by Richard Harris [who had a hit with Webb’s “MacArthur Park’’], and it looks like it’s been dragged behind a truck. It makes me want to cry because it’s been played to death, till the cover is literally falling apart.
Q. It doesn’t matter that they’re asking you to sign someone else’s record?
A. No, it doesn’t matter to me. I used to get really angry and wonder why nobody got me [as a performer]. In my 30s, I was the angry young man. I wanted to kill everybody, and it used to leak onto my records, which was deadly. The vitriol would somehow end up in the grooves of the records.
Q. What do you tell younger songwriters when they ask you for advice?
A. I tell them, “Go home’’ [laughs]. No, I don’t tell them that. I say it’s a very, very difficult time to embark on a career as a musical professional. Things are in disarray, but things will improve as this relationship with new technology and old traditional publishing and recording reaches an accommodation. Over the next 20 or 30 years, we’re going to see a rejuvenation of the music business, a reaffirmation of the values that we’ve discarded a little too quickly.
Q. It was poignant to see you at the tribute to Glen Campbell at the CMA Awards in November. What was that like for you?
A. I thought it was a very warm moment. I don’t think he recognized me when he first saw me. I said, “Glen, it’s Jimmy Webb.’’ And he grabbed me and hugged me with such fierce strength. He said, “Why, Jimmy Webb!’’ In a way, everything’s kind of a new discovery for Glen. He’s very, very happy. It’s not a downer being with Glen. He’s playing almost every night, and that’s all Glen has ever wanted to do. I’ve heard nothing but good stuff about his concerts.
Q. How do you think your songs have aged?
A. I hear them differently. I play a song like “Galveston,’’ which I always did as a ballad. I never did it fast like Glen [Campbell]. I’ve realized that it means as much as it ever did, maybe even more so now. There’s more pathos to the fact that you can still sing that song word for word and you don’t have to change a single word. We’re still fighting a war in a strange place, and young kids are still involved and still hoping they’ll survive it and come back. The fact that that’s still going on 40 years later, it affects me quite a lot.
Q. Are there songs of yours that you felt were underrated?
A. By and large, I’ve gotten my due. I joke around with my audiences and say that I get pissed off because Leonard Cohen and Bob Dylan get all the credit for writing all the meaningful and socially significant songs. All the critics used to talk about my frothy, sudsy ballads floating to the top of the charts. They didn’t realize that my songs had secret meanings and social significance, I tell the audience. Take this one for instance, and then I play “Up, Up and Away’’ [laughs]. It’s hysterical. At the end, I say, “Well, no, it was just about balloons.’’
James Reed can be reached at jreed@globe.com.