Roky Erickson Restored

It could have been an Alan Lomax field recording, the words of some unknown songwriter he found while rambling through Texas in search of Leadbelly. "Devotional Number One" is a tender ballad, its singer's voice pained and sensitive. While the lyrics about Jesus and Moses quickly turn nonsensical, but never lose their punch or emotion.

But "Devotional Number One" came from a mental institution, not the prisons that housed Leadbelly. Its author, Roky (Roger Kynard) Erickson, frontman of psychedelic pioneers The 13th Floor Elevators and one rock music's greatest casualties, spent years at Rusk State Hospital and decades fighting mental illness.

While weak in some spots, his first album in 15 years, True Love Cast Out All Evil, can only be considered a victory. He wrote many of these songs decades ago, but Austin indie-rockers Okkervil River prove their chops as his backing band. Okkervil frontman Will Sheff helmed the production, treating Erickson with reverence and a delicate touch.

Sheff took four decades of Erickson's tunes, many unrecorded, winnowing them down to a clean dozen. The ridiculous aspects of his post-institutionalization writing have been swept away; the Roky Erickson who penned the tender "I Had to Tell You" has reemerged. This isn't some hipster movement to elevate the standing of a mentally ill songwriter (ahem, Daniel Johnston); Erickson has plenty to say, and says most of it eloquently.

From "Devotional Number One" Erickson jumps into "Ain't Blues Too Sad," which has a gospel-country feel that would fit on recent Levon Helm records. "Be and Bring Me Home" follows the same template, letting Erickson belt it out with minimal piano backing.

Sheff knows when to dial up the backing music. The Texas-tinged rock of "Goodbye Sweet Dreams" fleshes out Erickson's simple lyrics, and Bring Back the Past flat-out rocks.

Please Judge rings like a prayer its author knows will go unheard (this is Texas, and Erickson did end up getting electroshock following his conviction for possession of a single joint). While I wish Sheff would have avoided the noisy interludes (he might be trying to recall Erickson's use of noise to drown out the voices in his head - true story), because on its own, the rough piano backing Erickson is remarkably effective.

If any song could have been cut, "John Lawman" would be first in line. Despite a solid rock hook, it falls closest to Erickson's monster-alien period, with the same three lines repeatedly endlessly. How the driving bonus track, "Sweet Honey Pie," did not get its slot on the proper album is beyond me, but I wonder if Sheff wanted to represent Erickson's different writing facets first.

Another quibble - Sometimes Erickson seems slightly out of cadence with the music and will ramble through a line to catch up. Anyone expecting the fiery wails from "You're Gonna Miss Me" should brace themselves, as his struggles and age have left Erickson with a earthy but soulful voice (think recent Bob Dylan).

I don't know if the Erickson-Sheff partnership will evolve into the Johnny Cash-Rick Rubin level. It doesn't have to - True Love Cast Out All Evil reveals that a mentally well Erickson still exudes vitality. If it marks the last word on Erickson's music, it's a powerful statement.