One of the coolest things about folk music – apart from the tunes of course – is the fact that each song has a life of its own. There’re countless derivations on any single standard that differentiate one version from the next in any variety of ways. It might be that the original was played on a piano and subsequent versions were rendered in six string terms. But any sort of snake like tracking of a song requires ample knowledge of Americana’s history. For whatever cultural reason – the impending youth movement, civil rights and work towards social equality – the late ‘50s and early ‘60s saw a ground swell in not just an interest in folk music, but a spate of new performers.

Of course, there were commercially viable groups like the Kingston Trio and those that somehow made a name for themselves even while following their own path, like Bob Dylan. But where that latter figure has been embraced by the broader culture for the last fifty years, some of his contemporaries never achieved the same sort of wide spread fame. It might have to do with his staunch – and obtuse – politicization of music. But Dylan’s song craft, while not matched by too many, had a rival in the personage of Michael Hurley.

Perhaps best known for his collaboration with members of the Holy Modal Rounders during the mid ‘70s which resulted in Have Moicy!, Hurley had been performing for well over a decade by that point. And while much of that time included brief and scant public appearances, the guitarist, singer and song writer released a definitive statement of simple folk and odd story telling in 1964 on First Songs through the Folkways label - subsequently released as Blueberry Wine.

As stark as the imagery doffed on the cover of the album, what First Song holds inside are a number of somber, if not occasionally ridiculous tunes that at once find the singer belting ‘em out in a Midwestern timbre unique to Pennsylvania and plying those six strings with a subtle alchemy. Hurely won’t ever be considered the greatest guitarist of the ‘60s folk thing, but he’s probably a rung up from Dylan.

It’s not the most knotty passages that are rewarding here, though. The spryly strummed chords on “Captain Kidd,” on which Hurley is joined by a fiddle, are melodic enough to ingratiate the progression to all but the most deadened human beings. There’s surely a good deal of nonsense here lyrically as Hurley counts down from 9 a few times. But since the song’s about a captain flippin’ his wig, it’s to be expected.

Following that track is “Intersoular Blues,” which should be the most spacey offering here considering its name. And while Hurley warbles and yodels through the entire track, the final track, a rumination on Werewolves, is easily more weird.

First Songs won’t appeal to everyone – like the folks who are all enamored of beautiful singing and harmonies. But Hurley goes in on enough interesting fair as to have his first disc revered, even if it’s by a small segment of folk fetishists.