(Rounder) Over the course of his career, Ray Wylie Hubbard and his music have gone through many fazes. He started out in the 60's on the coffee house/folk circuit, and by the early 70's he became an outlaw's outlaw, writing the now infamous "Up Against The Wall Redneck Mother." By the 80's he was only recording sporadically, and by the mid-80's, he disappeared into the dark world of substance abuse. He resurfaced again in the early 90's, in a new persona, that of a songwriter's songwriter. He continued on that path with a string of acclaimed albums, starting with Lost Train Of Thought through Crusades of the Restless Knights.

In 2001, he teamed up with producer Gurf Morlix and switched gears again with the release of Eternal & Lowdown, an outstanding album of dark roots-blues based music, which focused on a sinner in search of redemption. On Growl, Hubbard, once again with Morlix at the production helm, continues on his murky journey into the darker side, delving even deeper into a swampy, sweaty, Delta blues sound. Once again he tackles the themes of sin, loneliness, temptation, betrayal, hypocrisy and the afterlife. For the first time, Hubbard handles lead guitar, which he's become quite proficient at playing, and resonator slide. Morlix joins him on bass, and various other guitars and instruments, while Rick Richards is on drums. Those that drop by to add instrumental and vocal support are Buddy Miller, John Dee Graham, Darcie Deaville, Scrappy Jud Newcomb, Mary Gauthier and Malcolm Melbourne.

Growl opens with "Knives of Spain," a song which asks "what if" and questions his own resolve, starts out spare and slowly, with the melody building up steam as it reaches a  murky, uneasy tension, that includes some killer guitar licks by Buddy Miller. "No Lie" with it's slow, sweaty, grinding beat confronts battles with substance abuse and a wavering faith in religion. "Name Dropping" is just that, a lighthearted call out to each of the artists that back him up on this song, John Dee Graham, Scrappy Newcomb, Darcie Deaville, Mary Gauthier, with a nod to the late "Mambo" John Treanor. The lyrics are just for fun, but it's the absolutely irresistible, sultry groove that hauls you in. "Purgatory Road" slashes and burns through this dark southern gothic tale of hard times. "Bones" is a continuation of the same theme, but the melody is not as dark, with a slash groove and some red hot, precision bottleneck slidework. The acoustic slow blues of "Preacher" is a subtle slam at the hypocrisy religion sometimes produces. "Rooster" is the tale of a man finding redemption after making some not very wise choices.

Hubbard cranks it up with the blues-rocking "Rock & Roll Is A Vicious Game." This carries the same warning he gave in "Loco Gringo's Lament," about the life of a musician, and here he hammers it home with far more forceful and menacing words and melody. "Stolen Horses" is a gritty, chugging, blues-rocker that ponders reincarnation. More outstanding slide work highlights "Little Mama," which confronts a woman that can't be true. Growl closes with "Screw You, We're From Texas," which most likely will replace "Up Against The Wall" as Hubbard's most misunderstood song, due primarily to it's chorus. That latter song was meant as a sarcastic indictment, and accidentally became a redneck anthem. "Screw You, We're From Texas" is most assuredly not a 'political' statement. Though he admits to being a proud Texan and wouldn't want to live anywhere else, he also acknowledges that Texas isn't perfect either, in the lyrics: "Now Texas has gotten a bad reputation/Cause of what happened in Dallas and Waco/Our corporations well they are corrupt/And our politicians are swindlers and loco," the real focus of the song is directly about Texas music and it's artists. Hubbard makes no bones about his feelings, that he has no use for those who criticize some of the music that comes out of Texas. He makes it known loud and clear that artists like Willie Nelson and Robert Earl Keen, as well as Pat Green, Cory Morrow and Charlie Robison all belong, and rightfully have their place. So do all styles of Texas music as far as he's concerned, as he tips his hat to Stevie Ray Vaughan as being "the best there ever was," and asks if there was ever a band "cooler than The 13th Floor Elevators." 

Growl is dark, murky, sweaty, gritty Delta blues mixed with some country and hard driving rock and roll, and this album couldn't be more aptly titled. It's honest, soul baring emotion combined with plenty of hard scrabble attitude. There's not a single clunker in any of the album's 13 tracks, every one is powerful and hard hitting. Morlix once again does an outstanding job producing and arranging, giving the songs the perfect atmosphere. With Growl, Ray Wylie Hubbard has made his walk on the darker side of life something to look forward to, again and again.