“Gates” gets upset when you refer to his music as blues, partly because the genre can sometimes carry a connotation of dejection and despair, but mainly because it’s just plain inaccurate.

This re-release of his 1977 album, originaIly issued on the Music Is Medicine label, tends to bear that out. He’s legendary for his prowess on the guitar, sure, and he’s well versed in his native Texas’ blues. But that doesn’t matter. J

ust when you think you know where he’s going, out comes his fiddle, or a dobro, or a flute, for God’s sake, and you’re in the weeds again. But what a beautiful kind of lost it is. That fiddle cries hard enough to make Hank Williams tremble, especially on the stunning “Song For Renee (Gate’s Tune),” which is as close a hybrid of country, blues and jazz as may ever be heard. Brown isn’t just a master of genres; he’s a living, breathing synthesis.

When was the last time “When My Blue Moon Turns To Gold Again” got turned into a Cajun two-step? What’s that pop standard he quotes in the middle of “Gate’s Tune”? Is he REALLY quoting the disco classic “TSOP” (The Sound Of Philadelphia)” in a upbeat jazz boilermaker (“Pressure Cooker”)?

Or was Philly quoting HIM? Well, never mind. I get paid to obsess over these minutiae; all you need do is relax and enjoy one of America’s premier stewards of roots music legacies.

Don’t like country? Jazz? Blues? You will. Just let Gatemouth deal the next hand.