Few cities are as kind to the iconoclast as New Orleans, and Louie Ludwig’s series of homemade and independently produced albums bears that out: he’s referred to his style, to name drop one of his other albums, as “Gangsta Folk,” but that’s an indication of his outsider status, not his groove. Most of the time, Louie creates damaged-Americana experiments that observe modern life with a healthy dose of skepticism ranging from smirk to near snarl. His songs are often only as good as his jokes, but his folk tag is real—guy knows how to set the mood with words alone.

Some of his output is political, vehemently liberal, even; a frequent contributor to Daily Kos, he observes “Black Friday” shopping madness from the perspective of a man “walking home from a job I wish I had,” and draws a bead on Tea Partiers with lines like “They love them three amendments but not the other 24 / Uncle Sam’s got plenty guns, he don’t care about yours.” He’s also good with the small details, as you may have figured out by now, and that also serves him well on lighthearted fare like “Lonely Smoker,” where he shamelessly tries to seduce a fellow tobacco addict with solidarity, and “The Little People’s Parade,” an oddly psychedelic salute to the tots of the Krewe of ’Tit Rex. The world probably doesn’t need another song about driving while on a cell phone, as per “Four Wheel Phone Booth.” But it can always use a modern blues as clearheaded as “The World Is a Grinding Wheel.”