Even if you are a folkie singer-songwriter type, too much honesty can work against you.

Lane Rodgers has a steady gig at a Mexican restaurant in Shreveport, at which he indeed acts as his own backing band, but while he’s undeniably likable on his debut, you have to wonder how his audience takes to the notion that’s he’s all alone at 61, or how they react to lines like “I hear you’re gonna have a baby / Sorry it couldn’t be mine.” Ouch.

Keeping it real is what he’s all about, to the point that his solemn war ballad “Ode to the Fallen” is actually sung from a dead soldier’s point of view.

Lane’s rhymes can be as clunky as his sincerity, and his complete lack of artifice doesn’t always guarantee a compelling tale: when he sings about running over his girl’s pet on “Flat Cat Blues,” it’s not a sexual metaphor.

Neither, as far as can be told, is “Fried Chicken Blues” (she really loves that chicken) and “Last Piece of Pie” (ditto Lane and pie).

Backed only by keyboard strings, his own guitar, a rhythm box of sorts, and an occasional self-harmony, Lane and his endearingly wobbly baritone—sort of a Bible Belt Gordon Lightfoot—can still connect with anyone who’s lost a love … or skinned an alligator, for that matter.

Clumsy but honest? There are worse things to be.