Ray Wylie Hubbard writes the kind of songs that make you want to ride along no matter where he’s going,
because you know it’s gonna get strange somewhere along the way. The references to Muddy Waters
being as deep as William Blake (“I really do believe it,’’ Ray says) and lipstick pickups, resonator slides, the
dreams of drunken poets, deceased call girls, opium, wasp’s nests, clouds growing a tail, his ability to segue
seamlessly from primal exclamations of carnal lust into songs about salvation without pausing for irony;
and a craftsmanship that manages to rhyme mescaline and gasoline and Volkswagen with dragon while
painting vivid portraits of characters both real and unreal, all evoke a sense of place that is larger than life
but in no way made up.

Anyone who’s followed Ray Wylie Hubbard over the long and winding path he has traveled already knows
he possesses the kind of exceptional gift for observation that any songwriter yearns for. His sense of
wonder is tempered by an accumulated wisdom and knowledge that comes with experience that has
elevated him into the Wylie Lama of Texas Music, freely imparting songwriting verities to all kinds of
aspiring musicians, which allows him to lay all his cards on the table and let the listener decide what it all
means.