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Robbie Taylor is a true blue throwback. The 50-year-old lead singer and songwriter for vintage rockabilly, surf and swing outfit The Roebucks has trouped from New Orleans coffee shops to Austin honky-tonks (when Austin truly was the “live music capital of the world”) to Cajun dance halls in between. Here he tells 225 why he owes it all to the “Man in Black.”

Tell me about your introduction to music as a kid?

In the early ’60s my folks had one of those big console/turntable/radios—the home entertainment centers of the day. And I would lay on the floor underneath that thing and get this special bass response from the music.

Like your own hiding place, but with really killer bass.

Yeah, I’d make my cave under there with blankets and everything and listen to Johnny Cash’s “Don’t Take Your Guns to Town.” It had a really simple melody, but it was a story. It made an impression on me, though I didn’t do anything about it right away. But that was what led to us doing Johnny Cash tributes. It had nothing to do with his latter-day success with [producer] Rick Rubin.

Your family traveled around a lot when you were a kid?

My father was in aviation, a flight engineer. He started off disassembling old World War II aircraft in San Antonio. That’s where I was born. And he worked on cargo aircraft, so we moved to Miami, to Long Beach, Calif., and then to New Orleans.

As Texans did you feel like you fit in New Orleans?

Oh yeah, we got into hunting and fishing. In the ’60s it was pretty easy to get into a car in New Orleans and 30 minutes later be in a duck blind without a bunch of money. But when you’re born in Texas and all your family trips are back there, even though you grow up in ’Nahlins, you think differently about it.

Was your dad musical at all?

He was appreciative of it and supportive. His heroes were the Texas honky-tonk guys. Blue-collar folks back then were raising kids and paying bills and not much into entertainment or running around.

When did you pick up guitar?

I was 9 or 10, on a family trip in East Texas to see my aunt. She was always trying to find activities for us kids. We bought a Kay electric guitar for $30, and I took a few lessons. The guitar teacher wanted me to play “Oh My Darling, Clementine,” and I wanted to play “Somebody to Love” by the Jefferson Airplane or “She Has Funny Cars,” the flipside. So after two lessons I thought, “This isn’t the route for me.” I didn’t really do much with it until years later when we lived in Ft. Stockton, Texas. My sister had a little catgut string guitar, you know, a little Spanish guitar. And I learned “House of the Rising Sun” on that. If you know those five chords you can play anything. I just wanted something to sing with. I still feel that way about it.

It seems that some of the more creative guitarists are those who aren’t necessarily proficient or formally trained on it.

Exactly. I don’t even consider myself a master guitarist. I play rhythm guitar kind of like Buddy Holly and just get what I need out of the guitar without the academia.

Who else inspired you early on?

Neil Young. In high school I could listen to his records in my room and copy what I heard. Even then I considered myself an entertainer more than a musician. I thought ‘Everyone in my neighborhood is playing Bob Dylan and The Beatles, I’ll be different and do West Coast stuff like Poco and Buffalo Springfield.’ It might have weirded them out a little bit in places like the Penny Post in uptown New Orleans.

You also lived in Austin when it really was a kind of “Live Music Capital” that it still claims to be.

I moved there in 1978 doing solo lounge-type sets. One night a guy came up to me and said, “You’re a rockabilly!” And I said, “What the hell’s that?” [laughing] I was in Austin for 14 years, not taking music seriously while I watched lots of people move there and make their careers while we were partying. I had to get out of there. So I came to Baton Rouge to work with my dad, and that’s when I met Sam Short and we started The Roebucks.

What’s your songwriting process like?

You can’t really make yourself write a song. When I am feeling it, it all comes out at once. Then it’s just fine-tuning it over a cup of coffee before work. I write out of necessity. Maybe a tune will be bugging me for a while, and I scribble down the ideas until it comes together. I’ve been listening to a lot of Steve Earle and learning that for my solo acoustic shows, and the bigger challenge for me is taking one of his songs and making it my own.

What cover songs make way into your sets?

I wouldn’t even call them covers. Most of them are old, public domain Texas blues songs that we’ve reworked and added to. Every year we do a Buddy Holly tribute show, and we’re about to start doing annual Johnny Cash tributes.

You like to keep The Roebucks shows pretty loose, right?

Yeah, there’s no set list. I like it that way. We’re not trying to prove anything. I just let the music do the talking. I’ve been through the trendy thing in Austin and all that. You just keep playing good stuff and eventually it comes back into fashion.