Also starring Thomas Doherty, the sophomore feature from ‘Holler’ writer-director Nicole Riegel revolves around the creative and romantic sparks between two musicians.

In the multitude of A Star Is Born movies and their progeny, an aspiring artist’s struggles are prelude to a melodrama of triumph and conflict, played out in the unforgiving glare of the fame machine’s klieg lights. Nicole Riegel’s Dandelion turns that template inside out: In its fringe milieu of shadows, the yearning and bursts of inspiration, the discouragement and relentless hard work are not prelude but the main action.

This is the second part of a planned trilogy centering on Ohio women, and, as in her debut feature, Holler, Riegel has a sure feel for the working-class Midwestern setting. But as with that film, her dialogue tends to undercut the aimed-for cinematic impact, articulating themes with a clanging insistence.

Layne (If Beale Street Could Talk) brings an arresting combination of youthful volatility and old-soul watchfulness to her performance, communicating defeat, ecstasy, and every half-note in between. The first glimpse of her character, whose given name is Theresa and for whom Dandelion is more than a stage name, captures the serious joy that propels the story: She’s stringing and tuning her guitar. That communion between musician and instrument, songwriter and song, is at the movie’s core.

When Dandelion sells her beloved Gibson Les Paul Gold Top electric to help pay for medical treatments for her ailing mother (Melanie Nicholls-King), the moment is all the more excruciating for the understated, matter-of-fact way it unfolds.

Dandelion is driven to make music, but the thrill is gone. Her three-night-a-week gig in a drab hotel lounge barely pays, and the inattentive drinkers have made her despondent and bitter, even as she dreams of finding the right crowd for her introspective songs. When a friend suggests that she enter a music showcase and competition at a famous motorcycle rally, she scoffs at the idea, certain that its crowd is not the one she’s searching for. But after an overcooked exposition drop disguised as a fight with her mother, she hits the road for Sturgis, South Dakota.

Doherty, who starred on the recent Gossip Girl reboot and serves as a brand ambassador for Dior, not only scruffs up nicely, but also brings a compelling element of hooded pain to the role of Casey, whose phone buzzes at inopportune times and who tosses around vague references to a job “in sales” and an estranged wife, his gaze hungry, sorrowful and, to the audience, if not the enraptured Dandelion, ominous.

“I’m just a guy who used to be in a band,” Casey tells Dandelion, but clearly he’s stoked to be drawn into her creative process. Their motorcycle rides through the striking landscape lead to songwriting sessions — one, memorably, atop a windy overlook — and lovemaking in the thick of nature.

Sorting out lyrics, melody and harmony, they’re also figuring out who they are to each other, their fast-tracked intimacy not merely physical. Their voices and guitars are in exhilarating sync, but Dandelion, sensing something amiss, pours qualms into her songs. Brainstorming sessions turn into emotional duels, and public performances into standoffs, charged with uncertainty and Dandelion’s fighting spirit. Her creative integrity is Riegel’s core concern.