Back in this space on 5 June 2010 I reviewed Steve Earle's Townes. It was an acoustic tribute to the late Texas singer-songwriter Townes Van Zandt (d. 1997), a seminal influence on the young Earle. The current disc, set in both acoustic and electric arrangements, is devoted to another of those influences, traceable to Earle's days in the 1970s Houston folk scene. Guy Clark (1941-2016) -- no relation, I suppose I might clarify -- helped shape Van Zandt, not to mention Lyle Lovett, Michael Martin Murphey, Joe Ely, Jimmie Dale Gilmore, Eric Taylor and other Texans who would go on to make their various marks as rooted musical storytellers.

Clark's career lasted close to two decades longer than TVZ's did. While Clark indulged in some of the same unfortunate habits and excesses, he managed to keep himself more disciplined and generally on top of his art and performance than his friend did. He also cared more about the quality of his albums, to which TVZ was largely indifferent. As a consequence the listener is often better off seeking out cover versions of the latter's songs, as done by a range of country, folk and bluegrass artists.

Still, I was sold on TVZ the first time I heard him. For reasons that make little sense in retrospect, it took me longer, even much longer, to appreciate how gifted Clark was. Hearing "The Last Gunfighter Ballad" on Guy, I am startled to find it is a far more compelling story-song than I'd remembered.

Earle and his band turn their collective chops to sterling interpretations of some Clark classics, starting with "Dublin Blues" whose opening words and melody echo the traditional "Handsome Molly," followed by a series of memories high and low, from seeing the Mona Lisa and hearing Doc Watson to getting hammered on margaritas in an Austin bar. No other song is quite like it, and it is as good as anything Clark ever wrote. Which, I assure you, is not exactly saying nothing.

That was Clark's genius. Though the melodies fell short once in a while, his words were always there, detailing matters tragic, funny, singular, unforgettable. His early "Desperados Waiting for a Train" (first covered by Jerry Jeff Walker, I believe) remains sui generis, at once a ballad and a movie, a life experience eloquently and shatteringly evoked. Earle sings it almost as if personal testimony, though Clark spoke frankly of the episode in his own young life that inspired it.

"New Cut Road" takes the title of an old fiddle tune to relate a story that encompasses, along with a pivotal moment in his family's history, an old fiddle tune. "Sis Draper" is about a fiddler. Clark later wrote a sequel, "The Death of Sis Draper," not included here, to be found on his brilliant My Favorite Picture of You (2013). Earle puts his own stamp on such Clark favorites as "LA Freeway" and "Texas 1947," which remain marvels of songwriting craft decades after their composition.

If you haven't heard Guy Clark before, here's where you start.