E-Mail This Article to a Friend Found sounds Gary Higgins’s lost classic emerges BY ELIOT WILDER

One great fear expressed by purists at the dawn of the CD age was that many cherished, obscure albums would be relegated to the cut-out bin of history. In fact, the opposite has been true. Thanks to reissue labels like Rev-Ola, Sundazed, and Trunk, you can unearth albums that had been known to the most ardent of crate diggers — Linda Perhacs’s Parallelograms, Vashti Bunyan’s Just Another Diamond Day, Judee Sill’s Heart Food, Simon Finn’s Pass the Distance. Not every found master is a "cult classic," of course, but many are more than just curiosities. The prolific Radioactive label has rescued COB’s Moyshe McStiff and the Tartan Lancers of the Sacred Heart, which despite its whimsical title is an eccentric English folk album — with some tabla, sitar, and wheezy harmonium thrown in — from Clive Palmer, one of the original founders of the Incredible String Band.

These "lost" works are gateways to the little-visited world of the left-field artist. But that doesn’t mean they’re inaccessible. As the late Nick Drake demonstrated, beauty and strangeness can dovetail and, with the aid of a VW commercial aimed at the cool kids, become an inspiration to a whole new generation. Add to the "File Under Obscure" category Gary Higgins’s sole effort, Red Hash. Made in 1973 in the Connecticut countryside and released on his own tiny Nufusmoon label, it barely registered a blip before Higgins was shipped off to prison for two years on a marijuana bust. That was it for his career in music.

Well, almost. Thirty-two years later, with sensitive acid-folk minstrels like Sufjan Stevens and Devendra Banhart in vogue, Drag City has resurrected Red Hash, and Higgins is performing again. And that’s cause for rejoicing, because unlike like many of his long-haired contemporaries, Higgins brought a spiky elegance to his music, a hypnotic grace, and the kind of artlessness that creates timelessness. He also has a voice — at times breathy as Elliott Smith’s or raspy as Tom Waits’s — that gives vivid life to songs of loneliness, wanderlust, and wildlife.

On the chiming opener, "Thicker Than a Smokey," he asks, "What do you intend to do young man?/Where do you intend to go?" He’s a restless seeker who understands that life is fleeting, that you’ll always be on your way. "It Didn’t Take Too Long" warns that "the clock is runnin’ now/ it’s telling you just how/You got to sing your song." Mixing sweet with bitter, "Windy Child" laments the passing of a lover; amid a cloud of flutes and the yawning hum of a cello, Higgins whispers, "You were so afraid/Let me tell ya/You were so alone/Let me tell ya." All hurt and betrayal, the lyrics of "Stable the Spuds" are glazed by the skittering sound of what could pass for primitive electronica. Red Hash also refers to various species of birds, unending skies, taking flight, isolation and more isolation.

Fortunately, the characters Higgins writes about seem too high to be low. "Down on the Farm" is a twisted stoner blues about a dude who after getting tricked into milking a bull asks the bull to help exact retribution. Sung à la Captain Beefheart, it’s a real gravel shaker.

The production is crisp, the performances adroit, and the melodies not above being pretty. Higgins does look like a crazed hippie on the cover. But don’t let that put you off. Drag City didn’t.