Ray Wiley Hubbard is one of the cosmic cowboys that made Austin home in the early 1970’s and played the bars and clubs alongside the likes of Willie Nelson, Doug Sahm, and Ray Benson. Heck, if you want old school credentials, he went to high school with Michael Martin Murphy. Before he inserted ‘Martin’ into the moniker. He’s been writing songs and playing guitar in dancehalls across Texas and Oklahoma ever since then, but keeping a lower profile than some of his peers. He’s sometimes referred to as the forgotten outlaw, the one that stampeded in with his brethren, then slowly faded out of sight for several years.
Whatever success eluded him in the first half of his career has been eclipsed by the prolific songwriting produced as part of the second act. Ray Wylie made his first appearance on Letterman at the age of sixty-eight. He recorded his first headlining episode for Austin City Limits three years later. He was seventy-four when he debuted at the Grand Ol’ Opry. When asked about it he jokes, “I didn’t want to peak too early.” The real story is a mixture of bum luck, drug & alcohol abuse, and a life spent coloring outside the lines.
Act One: Ray Wylie Hubbard and the Cowboy Twinkies, the Lost Gonzo Band, and other tales of depravity
I fist saw Ray Wylie at the Armadillo Christmas Bazaar , a regular gig he plays during the holidays. The Bazaar itself is a remnant of old Austin. It was founded in 1976 by the kitchen manager at the ‘Dillo after hearing Lucinda Williams lamenting about the artists who did not have anywhere to sell their wares. The Bazaar was conceived to bring artists and potential customers together in a festive space. It’s used a variety of venues over the years (including the ‘Dillo itself) but has always been organized by the same core group. For the last couple of decades it has taken place at the Palmer Events Center in a large exhibition hall with concrete floors and a warehouse chic atmosphere.
The highlight is the makeshift stage in the middle of the room, with a collection of folding chairs scattered around it. This stage hosts revered local musicians who return year after year. They don’t play Christmas songs.
There were no seats available the first time I saw the show, those were filled by individuals who had the foresight to claim a position several hours prior. They were professionals, many of them have been attending since the original event. I joined the handful of people gathering behind the seating section. By the team Ray shuffled onto the stage the cluster had grown to a small mob in the center of of the event hall, with crowds extending down the aisles of booths.
Ray Wylie looked the part of elder statesman of the songwriting guild with wild gray hair, round tinted glasses, and harmonica holder swinging from his neck. This was a guy I could picture trading cowboy logic in Luckenbach or debating beatniks in front of the City Lights bookstore, but I was confused by the teenager plugging his Les Paul Gold Top into the amp. He looked like he was ready to play a Smashing Pumpkins cover. I make a mental note to figure out the story behind this pairing.
He opens with a song about a dog chasing a rabbit, or something. Afterwards, he addresses the crowd, “I imagine, that for a lot of you, this is your first time appearing before me,” he pauses long enough that I wonder if I am supposed to raise my hand, “and you are probably feeling a little nervous right now.”
The crowd laughs.
“I’m an acquired taste,” he adds as he starts strumming the next song. The crowd laughs on cue. I think I see the teenager smirk under his beanie cap.
“And some of you will never get me,”
The crowd laughs again.
“This song should weed you out.” With that he sets off on a groovy, blues meets country, meets rock-n-roll, meets I don’t know what tune. I’m hooked.
The Chairman of the Tortured Poets Society
It’s 1975, and things are looking good for Ray Wylie Hubbard. He has a cool band with an even cooler name. He’s just recorded a debut album. The outlaw country movement is establishing a bona fide identity and he is one of the young stars in the genre. What could go wrong?
The album arrived.
Ray and the boys departed Nashville having laid down tracks they were proud of. After they left, the executives decided the album wasn’t what people were going to buy. So, they dubbed over it with generic country twang and a crew of backup singers. To ensure full desecration of the project, they also took the unfinished cover and decorated it with rope letters. If that ain’t country you can kiss my ass.
Ray Wylie Hubbard, and the Cowboy Twinkies, are devastated. The album is actually not that bad, the frustrating part is that you can hear the bones of something that could have been very good, but Ray Wylie and the band were uncompromising. They refused to tour or promote the album and it led to the disintegration of the Cowboy Twinkies. Ray will sometimes steal a line from Hunter S. Thompson to summarize the ensuing years, “on the advice of my lawyer, I started drinking heavily.”
Up against the wall redneck mother
His career achievement in Act One can be attributed to a broken guitar string. The details are hazy, but there was some degree of fluidity between the Cowboy Twinkies and Jerry Jeff Walker’s Lost Gonzo Band. This results in Bob Livingston playing in Jerry Jeff’s band after having spent a stint with Ray Wylie. When one of Walker’s guitar strings broke, he played “Redneck Mother” to fill the gap while the guitar was re-tuned.
The crowd loved it and Jerry Jeff put it on his next album. The song exploded into the country music scene as a dancehall sing-a-long anthem reminiscent of “Okie from Muskogee.” For the next twenty years it is hard to find a reference to Ray Wylie Hubbard that does not include the phrase “guy who wrote Redneck Mother”. It’s nice to have a hit song, but Ray Wylie has been known to point out that “the problem with irony is that not everyone gets it.”
The forgotten outlaw
We’ve come to the point in the story where Ray is a young man, in his early twenties. He’s recorded a folk rock album that Nashville producers turned into a country pop album. He’s written a hit song, that someone else made famous. Willie and Waylon are filling arena’s while Ray is playing Dallas nightclubs, perpetually on the cusp of the big time. We are entering into an unexpected void in the span of a career that arches from rising star to respected statesman, without the traditional years of success connecting the two.
Ray Wylie wrote a song about this, and it is better than anything I can write, so I’m going to turn it over to him for this part. Take seven minutes to watch the video and I’ll see you on the other side:
Act Two: The loco gringo’s lament, snake farms, and the return of the forgotten outlaw
Ray Wylie is in his early forties as we enter the second act. He’s still known as they guy that wrote “Redneck Mother,” but he’s sober and has undergone a spiritual awakening. He has a clear direction for the future – he is to be a prosperous songwriter. He describes the moment of clarity in his book, but I’ll paraphrase the conversation for you. He’s a newbie to sobriety and speaking with his sponsor. (I can’t remember if it is the chainsmoker with a hook for a right hand or the fugitive on the run in Mexico, if you require that level of detail you need to buy the book. I’ll call him ‘somebody’ to avoid confusion.)
Somebody: “Ray, what is it you want to do with your life?”
Ray Wylie: “I want to be a great songwriter.”
Somebody: “Then write some great songs.”
Ray Wylie: “I can’t.”
Somebody: “Why not?”
Ray Wylie: “I’m not a good enough guitar player. I can’t play the songs I want to write.”
Somebody: “Then take guitar lessons.”
Ray Wylie: “I can’t do that either.”
Somebody: “Why not?”
Ray Wylie: “I’d be too embarrassed. I’m Ray Wylie Hubbard. I’m the guy that wrote ‘Redneck Mother.’ I can’t tell anybody I’ve been carrying this Les Paul around for twenty years and don’t even know how to play it.”
Somebody: “That’s the fear holding you back.”
Ray Wylie: “Well…shit.”
“Loco Gringo’s Lament” is the album Ray Wylie acknowledges as the start of the renaissance. He says it is the first album he made that he could hand to somebody without having to make any excuses. The previous albums had their moments, but they were rushed, over-produced, under-produced, or had some glitch that required being explained away.
He’s an old hippie, but he know’s what to do
Ray Wylie is in his late sixties as we enter this scene. After ‘Loco’s Gringo Lament’ the songs continued to flow out of him and he built a large catalogue and a devoted fan base. After years in the wilderness, he has settled into his rightful place as a respected elder statesman of the Texas music scene. He has a new album coming out. It’s his first on a major label since the ill-fated one he recorded with the Cowboy Twinkies forty-five years earlier.
The album is called “Co-Starring” and features a host of well known names joining Ray Wylie to perform his original compositions. The opening track alone has a Beatle, an Eagle, and a Black Crowe on it. What could go wrong?
I’m excited for the Ray Wylie album release show to get started. It’s been a while since I’ve seen a live show, too long. I pop the cork on the bottle of wine and slide it into an ice bucket. It’s a red wine, but you can only sit outside with a bottle of wine during a Texas summer for a couple of minutes before it warms to an undrinkable temperature. There’s a charcuterie board wrapped in saran wrap in the refrigerator. There are also chips and guacamole. I wasn’t sure what I’d be in the mood for so I have both ready.
I have the lawn chairs, iPad, and a bluetooth speaker arranged on the roof of the parking garage. Oh yeah, it’s July 2020. Ray has a new record coming out on a major label, featuring a bunch of big-name stars, and he’s hosting the album release party by himself from the Saxon Pub, leaving the rest of us to stream it off Facebook Live. I’m not going to say much more about the album because, as luck would have it, this one happens to be featured in the listening lounge.
I will add one anecdote though. “The Messenger” is the final track on the album. It’s a reprisal of the first song that Ray wrote after taking those guitar lessons, and an omen of the songwriting that would define his second act. It’s probably the prettiest song he’s written.
Day party at the White Horse
It’s 2024 and I’m amongst a crowd in the White Horse, a hipster honky tonk on the (now) trendy east side of Austin. This is Ray Wylie’s natural habitat. Clubs with large concrete dance floors and rules like “no fucking line dancing” are what he cut his teeth on. The crowd is festive, and predominately local, which is an oddity at a SXSW event. The increased vigor might be credited to the fact it’s a day party – the three pm start time suits the demographic and they are guzzling cans of beer in anticipation.
Over the last several years Lucas Hubbard has become an integral component of the show. It shouldn’t be surprising, he grew up playing guitar next to a living legend and has matured into a virtuosic talent. At one point Cotton Clifton, lead guitarist for Nikki Lane and the Kernal, joins them on stage. Lucas and Cotton trade guitar solos like the devil is on his way back to Georgia, and if I’m being honest, Lucas took home the golden fiddle.
If you’ve attended a Ray Wylie show you know he has a routine, and it’s a good routine. He’s having fun today and working in all his greatest hits. He plays the rock infused anthem, ‘Wanna Rock & Roll,’ then pauses to tell the audience. “Cross Canadian Ragweed chose to put that song on an album, and I sure am grateful that they did because with the royalties from that….I was able to buy a fence!”
I’ve heard the punchline several times, but I still laugh along with the rest of the crowd.
Later, he talks about writing Desperate Man for the Eric Church album and concludes with, “and I sure am grateful that he decided to record that song, and name his album after it, because with the royalties from that song…I was able get a gate for my fence!”
We all laugh again.
He continues regaling us with stories of writing songs with Hayes Carll, Ronnie Dunn, and Willie Nelson. This gang knows the stories, and we laugh at the right times.
Ray likes to invite the crowd to sing, I’m sure part of the motivation is engaging the audience, but mostly I think he gets a kick out of how hard it is for common folks. His eyes twinkle as we lose the beat and forget the words within a couple of stanzas. He’ll say something like, “It ain’t exactly kumbaya,” before joining in and getting things back on track.
If there was any doubt about the crowd being local (there wasn’t) it dissipated when he played “Choctaw Bingo.” About halfway through he song he addresses us. “This next verse I can’t sing, I just can’t. James McMurty wrote the song, so he can sing this, but I can’t. But…YOU can,” he waves his arm over the dance floor. “You degenerates can sing it if you want to. I can’t sing it, but I’ll play it.” He steps away from the microphone with a smug smile and starts to play.
We come in, on beat and in unison. We belt out the first line, and enthusiastically continue through the rest of the verse while waving Lone Stars and Jim Beam’s above our heads.
Ruth-Anne and Lynn, they wear them cut-off britches
And them skinny little halters, and they’re second cousins to me
Man, I don’t care, I want to get between them
With a great big ‘ol hard-on
Like an ol’ Bodark fencepost
That you can hang a pipe rail gate from
Do some sister twisters till the cows come home
And we’ll be having us a time
The smug smile has turned to a befuddled expression of shock and confusion. Ray steps to mic, then just shakes his head instead of talking. Eventually he shrugs, “I’ve never seen anyone do that.”
The prosperous song writer
The path that Ray Wylie Hubbard took is far from standard, but he got to where he was supposed to be. During shows he will look over at this son (that’s the teenager from the Christmas Bazaar, if you skipped the grand reveal in the “Mother Blues” video) and says he doesn’t know if Lucas is going to choose to hang his life on a guitar or not, but he is grateful for the time that they get to share together now. You can sense the heaviness as he says the words, he stares at Lucas and contemplates not just if Lucas is going to hang his life on a guitar, but all the ramifications of that choice in his own life. Then, he always turns back to the audience with another smile and another expression of gratitude. It’s been a life well lived.*
*If this reference alludes you, take another moment to appreciate the title of the Ray Wylie Hubbard memoir. It takes a special breed to use punctuation to make a joke.
