“The Lord of the Highway:” West Texas’ Troubadour Joe Ely (March 14, 2026)
by Scott Sosebee
One of the most maddening things about being young is that you very often have no idea when you are in the presence of “greatness.” That happened to me one day in 1980 in Lubbock. I was a young, impressionable freshman that year, and instead of studying like I should have I decided to head with some friends to Fat Dawgs, one of those unique “only in Lubbock” watering holes that has since gone over the horizon. Fat Dawgs was an eclectic place that offered live music, cold beer, and a diverse crowd. I do not even remember who was playing that evening, but at an adjacent table were two men, tapping their toes and seemingly familiar with the musicians giving the show on the venue’s small stage. Eventually, I struck up some conversation with the two men, who introduced themselves as just “Joe and Jesse,” and both of them were gracious and also obviously knew quite a bit about music. It would only be later, when I went to a concert, that I realized that “Joe and Jesse” were Joe Ely and Jesse Taylor.
I, of course, thought of this tiny episode and my miniscule touch with fame when I heard the news of Joe Ely’s death on December 15, 2025. Ely was one of those “only in Texas” musicians whose name was likely not as widespread with the general public as it was with those “insiders” in the industry. Ely influenced singers and songwriters through multiple genres, from hard-core country honky-tonk singers, through iconoclastic “outlaw country” figures such as Townes Van Zandt, to innovative punk rock bands such as The Clash, and even legendary acts such as Paul McCartney and Bruce Springsteen. They all cited Ely as a ground-breaking songwriter and performer, one that they could draw on for inspiration, even though he never “broke-through” as an arena-filling superstar. Part of that was likely due to the fact that he was, like so many musicians that came out of Texas, a hard person to fit into a niche genre, but also because Ely was always determined to chart his own course, and it would be one that would not sacrifice the inimitable style that could only rise from his beginnings and life on the South Plains of Texas.
Joe Ely was born in 1947 in Amarillo, and moved with his family to Lubbock when he was ten. Ely was drawn to music through both a love and an escape. By his own admission, his home life was not ideal, and choosing to play violin in the school orchestra offered him an escape. Eventually, though, Ely did what many Lubbock young people did; influenced by Buddy Holly, he turned from orchestral music to rock and roll. Ely somehow obtained a Stratocaster guitar and began his conversion from Mozart to Elvis Presley and Chuck Berry. Playing music became his classroom, and Ely left school at 16 to pursue his passion.
He began playing gigs in the small honky tonks around Lubbock, the ones out on the county line because the city of Lubbock was dry. But Lubbock couldn’t contain him and he made his way to Austin in the late 1960s. It was a fortuitous time. Austin was transforming itself into a hub for innovative musicians, and the Armadillo World Headquarters was that movement’s Mecca. He fit right in with the growing movement, but he still wanted more. He moved to New York City after a few years in Austin, and shortly after joined the cast of Stomp which took him to Europe. By 1972, he was in Munich, adding another layer to the eclectic sound that would become his tapestry.
Ely came back to Lubbock in late 1972, where he and childhood friends Jimmie Dale Gilmore and Butch Hancock formed “Jimmie Dale and The Flatlanders.” The group was likely ahead of its time, with its diverse amalgam of traditional country, a little acid and psychedelic rock, with cutting edge punk sounds. “The Flatlanders” put out one album that didn’t sell well and then the members went on their own ways. Ely drifted first to a job taking care of the horses for the Ringling Brothers circus and then was back in Lubbock by 1974. He formed a band—with Jesse Taylor and Lloyd Maines—that eventually led to his signing by MCA Records, His first album, Joe Ely came out in 1977. It had modest sales, but more than anything it was hailed as a “masterpiece” by reviewers and became a hidden gem among industry insiders. It, and his second album Honky Tonk Masquerade (1978), was called “quintessential Texas music,” by Robert Christgau, and an “innovative tour de force” by music journalist Hazel Smith. Ely’s vocals were the signature part of his sound. His plaintive and almost crying voice, with musical arrangements that crossed genres as diverse as punk and Tejano blew audiences and critics away.
A pattern developed to some extent, one that would continue for forty years. Ely’s music spoke to other acts in ways no one could explain. Bruce Springsteen covered his music and made it a point to meet him. When The Clash wandered in to one of his shows in London (Ely cultivated a large following in Europe) in 1982, they struck up a friendship and invited him to tour with them when they came to the U.S. He even took them on a pilgrimage to Buddy Holly’s grave. His albums also sold well and he regularly drew large crowds on his tours. But radio airplay is the gold standard for industry success, and radio couldn’t figure Joe Ely out. Was he country? Rock? Something else? No one could pigeon-hole Joe Ely, so his success was always a bit limited.
Joe Ely was diagnosed with Lewy Body Dementia and Parkinson’s in early 2025. It is a devastating illness that robs its sufferers of their memory and also motor functions. He lived almost a year after the diagnosis and passed away in December 2025. “The Lord of the Highway,” one of the most innovative musicians to ever come out of Texas left the world one of the most eclectic legacies of the state.
The East Texas Historical Association provides this column as a public service. Scott Sosebee the Executive Director of the Association and can be contacted at sosebeem@sfasu.edu or via www.easttexashistorical.org.