Revisiting a hidden gem
It has long been established that folk music and storytelling go hand-in-hand; the best folk songs are most often those about people, places and things of interest, import or intrigue. From wolfmen to wild women, from art pieces set aflame to the contemplation of how to draw a horse, the topics of Terry Allen’s classic, quirky and deeply sociological Lubbock (on everything) ring true to the title, in stunning detail.
The 1979 album is newly reissued on Parade of Bachelors, injecting a new boost of energy into Allen’s longstanding and sprawling career. Though Allen’s artistic talents span mediums, his folk songwriting skills are textbook. Set to a backdrop of guitars, banjos, pianos and yodels, he waxes on about women, relationships, substances and the art world, occasionally delivering scene-setting monologues.
Allen announced in May he would issue his first two albums, Juarez from 1975 and its 1979 follow-up Lubbock. According to Paradise of Bachelors, the newly remastered version will correct tape inconsistencies from prior versions. It will be the U.S. vinyl reissue and the first CD that restore the full track listing, the label says.
Album opener “Amarillo Highway (for Dave Hickey)”—which was covered by Sturgill Simpson and Jason Isbell last year at an Alabama concert—sets the tone with some rollicking verses and Allen’s twangy drawl. Its downhome and down-on-your-luck, and perfectly captures the never-ending roads and big sky possibility of Texas.
Many of the songs are stories of people, places and things with Allen serving as narrator. The profile of “Lubbock Woman” culminates in a jam session with plucky guitars, tambourines and background gang vocals as Allen sings an ode to the weather woman with a good heart. Such delightful musical moments on this album are too numerous to count—the outro on “New Delhi Freight Train,” replete with pianos and harmonica, is a proggy-folk arrangement that would make the modern likes of My Morning Jacket and Wilco bow to the ground in praise.
The intro of “Truckload of Art” features Allen delivering a spoken-word scene-setting monologue (not the only instance of this) about a pick-up truck filled with art from New York City making its way west, which crashes and catches fire. It could be tongue in cheek, or it could be a tall tale passed down through local lore—either way, you get the yips and yelps of Allen and his cowboy flair. The song is immediately followed up with “The Collector (and the Art Mob)” where Allen showcases his dirty snarl. Discovering these songs feels like stumbling upon a secret passageway—one wonders, Who else knows about this and do they know how wild and great it is?
Songs like these are deft and observant studies in contrast, all this talk of high art and the snobby elite in a sound suited to an old-school bar full of whiskey swilling drunks. But that music is art, too, and Allen’s embracing of the blue collar sound as he ponders the high life shows how the art of the people is infinitely more authentic than whatever might be popular or celebrated. Give a listen to “Rendezvous USA” for this take in its full glory, or “Flatland Farmer” for a dose of country realism and excellent, extended picking solos.
Allen often turns inward, but never more with more self-awareness than on album closer “I Just Left Myself,” which is emblematic of the authenticity, honesty and quirkiness that extend throughout the album.
With 21 tracks, Lubbock is a dense, meaty listen—but it’s one that, especially for a 21st century generation listener, delivers a perspective that is frozen in time with its authenticity, and brimming over with know-how.
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