Ray Wylie Hubbard, 6/16/98

by Seth Rogovoy

(NORTH ADAMS, Mass., June 17, 1998) -- For better or worse, coffeehouse-style performances are personality-driven. A pretty good singer-songwriter can betray his material if he doesn't establish a rapport with his audience; a lesser-rate writer can actually cover a multitude of sins through sheer force of personality.

The prevailing mode among the top performers on the contemporary coffeehouse circuit is to balance serious, introspective songs with humorous banter. Some of the best performers, such as Cheryl Wheeler and on a good night, Vance Gilbert, are even better comedians who could fall back on stand-up if the music thing doesn't work out.

These days, in order to separate yourself from the pack, it helps to have a unique personality, which is why Ray Wylie Hubbard's show on Tuesday night was so refreshing.

Hubbard comes to the coffeehouse-folk thing from out of left field -- in his case, from a Texas outlaw stance. By combining the outlaw cowboy persona with the cafe singer-songwriter approach, Hubbard renews both and renders them fresh and inviting.

Hubbard kicked off his set with "The Ballad of the Crimson Kings," a timeless-sounding, philosophical outlaw ballad. His guitar finger- picking was richly resonant, and he instantly established a comfort zone for his rootsy, Americana-derived sound.

He also quickly established his comedy bona fides, telling great, wry stories to introduce each song. One such story -- which introduced the song "Last Train to Amsterdam" -- involved a power blackout, a walking goat and a place called Poetry, Texas. Another included this pithy observation about bluegrass music: just capo any song up five frets and play as fast as you can.

But Hubbard's rootsy, country-inflected ballads were as forceful as his stories. "Loco Gringo's Lament" was a tender look at a band of wild young rockers, while "Without Love" examined the inertia of a relationship with poetic grace.

Hubbard worked a riotously funny audience sing-along into "When She Sang Amazing Grace," which combined the honky-tonk and gospel genres. The aforementioned "Last Train to Amsterdam" was a dark, brooding look at impending doom, while "Crimson Dragon Tattoo," which Hubbard described as a "sea chantey," examined wounds deep beneath the surface.

In his careful craftsmanship, his attention to detail, and his service to the song, Hubbard transcended mere genre. In that sense, he recalled Maine singer-songwriter Cormac McCarthy more than anyone -- a musician's musician with a strong sense of place, a workman's ethic and a healthy sense of humor masking pain at the core.

Hubbard's program was part of the revived Music on Main Street series, which is eventually destined for the Manic Stage, which is to open soon next door to Zoie's on Main. In the meantime, shows are being held in the front section of Zoie's.

[This review originally appeared in the Berkshire Eagle on June 18, 1998. Copyright Seth Rogovoy 1998. All rights reserved.]