Actor Steve Kazee recently passed one of those giant tourist maps and was struck by the encircled emblem “You Are Here” with an arrow. Analytical as ever, he took that as a sign for self-assessment. In literal terms, he is in concert at New York’s 54 Below from July 8 through 13 in a return engagement of his alt-country show. Where he finds himself emotionally is much more complicated terrain that he explores in his own songs, which make up the act.

The 37-year-old actor — who won a 2012 Tony Award for his sensitive Irish busker in the musical hit “Once” — had never before written a full song until he blew out his voice just before the end of his contract. Frustrated, he grabbed his guitar and started to express raw emotions generated by an impoverished Kentucky childhood, rebellious teen years, wistful romantic breakups, and the trauma of losing his beloved mother to breast cancer. He has been ruthlessly honest in his excavations. “What’s the point of doing otherwise?” the actor said. As such the name of his band — The Shiny Liars — is more than a little ironic. ARTINFO spoke with Kazee recently about how he’s managed to mine gold from his restless and eventful journey from the hills of Appalachia to Broadway stardom.

You’ve mentioned that people coming to the concert will get “to know my demons.” What demons might that be?

[Laughs] I think we all have demons but my demons aren’t that bad. They’re productive demons. They keep me focused on the man I want to be and the life I want to live. I do that by recognizing those demons in me — the heartbreak, sadness, loss, anger, frustration, the run-of-the-mill demon-ocracy. I’m not a person who shuts them away. I don’t hide from them. I embrace them and use them as I a teaching tool for myself.

You’ve spent a lot of time through “Once” with Irish musicians. Have they been a big influence on your songwriting?

It’s influenced me greatly. Being around that Irish music scene flipped a switch in me. For a long time I thought that writing songs was about putting out an album, but hanging around these guys made me realize that it’s really self-therapy. The feelings are so deep down that you can’t really express them in a normal conversation. So last February, upset over all the stuff that happened toward the end of my run in “Once,” I had no other outlet. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t sing, so to keep myself from going crazy, I played guitar and then wrote lyrics to match. I’m very grateful to those guys.

The Irish songwriting traditions are not very far off from your roots in Appalachia, are they?

Yeah, absolutely. The Irish settled into the hills and brought their music with them and bluegrass branched out from that. It’s very much a part of who I am and part of the storytelling culture I come out of. There was always music in my house when I was a kid. On Saturday mornings, my mother would clean house to 45s blaring out the songs of Neil Diamond, The Doors, Pink Floyd, Cat Stevens, Harry Chapin. And my dad, who played guitar, would invite his musician friends over and they’d drink moonshine, drink beer, and probably consume more illegal substances than I ever knew about. They’d sit on the back porch and commune with each other through music. It was beautiful.

Those songs by their nature get to the core.

We have a saying down there: “You can’t bullshit a bullshitter.” And they cut through all that stuff. I think my detectors are pretty good. It’s what has kept me sane through all of what has gone on through the past two years. I will never not know where I came from. I can be in the biggest house, the best apartment, winning Tonys and Grammys and whatever, and I will always remember waiting in line for government cheese and bread and having food stamps. I had a tough life and I will never not know the way I was raised and the place where I was raised.

Did you always know there was something else out there?

Since I was a kid I was always searching. My mom always told me that I would never stay where I’d grown up because I was too eager to know what was beyond the city limits. I was an angry young man, I had a chip on my shoulder and I was always acting out. I was going through a lot of turmoil.

How did it manifest itself?

I was a disruptive student. I hated my teachers, especially my Spanish teacher. When I went to see the musical “Matilda,” the horrible Miss Trunchbull brought back all sorts of horrible memories. I’d go into Spanish class, put on headphones, and sing at the top of my lungs until they threw me out. They were going to suspend me until the guidance counselor got involved. She said, “You’re wasting your life and I’m not going to let that happen. You want to sing? Fine. You’re in choir.” And that’s how I ended up in choir. My first choir teacher, who I was forced upon, showed me I could sing, I had a voice and that I could use it. I’m so grateful to her and so many others mentors, including Terrence Mann, who was my director three years at “The Lost Colony.” [The historical pageant in North Carolina.]

You mentioned your mom Kathy who died just before you won the Tony. I understand you pay a tribute to her in the concert.

I wrote a song, “Be On Your Way,” which is definitely about her. The idea for it didn’t come until a year later when I went back to my memory bank and recalled being with her at her bedside. She was basically unconscious the entire time. We never had that final dramatic conversation you expect to have. I just held her hand for five days and about half way through I realized how selfish I was to want her to still be around, she was in so much pain and suffering. Without being cheesy about it, I expressed that it was time for her to be on her way. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve got things left to do in this life. But it’s time for you to move on from this world to whatever is next.”

Did your well-publicized breakup with Megan Hilty [of “Smash”] also inspire any songs?

No. Not really. I have no problem… Breakups happen. Megan has gone on. She’s in a lovely relationship with a great guy, her career is exploding at the moment. Someone once told me, and it’s a very powerful thing to remember: “Never disregard any lover.” As I get older, I realize how important that is. The lessons I’ve learned about my time with Megan, six wonderful years, will live with me forever. I have zero angst or anxiety about her. She’s a warm, caring, immensely talented, lovely human being.

The singer Damien Jurado once told you, “If you mess up, smile.” Did you take that one to heart?

Absolutely. You have to laugh at the ridiculousness of life. I used to worry about all these mundane and trivial bumps and I can’t tell how liberating it is not to feel that way anymore. I’m going to audition tomorrow for the ABC-TV series “Once Upon a Time,” and if I were to get it, I’d be playing this crazy fairy tale character. That’s my job! When I was playing in “Spamalot,” that was the most ridiculous job I’ve ever had. I just couldn’t believe that I was getting paid to do it. You have to have a sense of humor about it.

What was the scariest part about this new adventure?

Just putting your songs out there. It’s not like I can hide behind Stephen Sondheim and all the composers I love and cherish. These are my songs and they don’t show me in the best light. You have to get up in front of people and say, I’m a complicated human being with failed relationships, sadness, and heartbreak, frustration and anger. But I think it’s a way to bond with people. Like the character [in the movie “Brubaker”] says, “The whole world’s fucked up, Mr. Brubaker. Ain’t no use.” But if you can commiserate about that, you realize you’re not alone. I find that writing about it helps me connect with people.