"Joaquin Murietta, nobody knows..." Bob and Unknown Tongues, playing on the porch at the Dockhouse, in Beaufort, North Carolina. The water is right in front of them.

WAIT A MINUTE.

Is this the same Bob Frank who had an album out on Vanguard back in the seventies called Bob Frank?

Yep. This is him. He. This is the same Bob Frank.

Now look what you've done. You've stumbled onto the website of one of the most obscure songwriters on the face of the planet. Well, don't just sit there with your thumb on your mouse. Now that you're here, might as well come on in and browse around.

If you’re looking for some authentic American songs, you’ll love this place. They talk a lot about “folksingers,” but Bob Frank’s the real McCoy. Here’s a guy whose songs have passed into the American sub-culture without ever having been on the radio or TV. Actually, that’s not true. A couple of songs off that old album got some airplay when it first came out. There was a little station down here at Gilroy, called KFAT, that played “She Pawned Her Diamond for Some Gold” so much, they wore the record out -- or they went off the air, I forget which. In fact, Bob’s been on the radio in person a few times over the years. But here’s a guy, you almost had to catch him live if you ever wanted to hear him. Talk about elusive. Bob Frank is so invisible, when he looks in the mirror, he thinks they woke up the wrong guy.

Here's what the critics are saying about Bob Frank today:

"Bob Frank's songs are the proscenium between the personal and the universal... It's been three decades since Bob Frank's first album, the obscure LP on Vanguard... This collection (Keep on Burning) mixes older material with the new, and there's no distinction... Listen to how the words are phrased, how the lines are broken and assembled to the performance. These songs, this record, Bob Frank: time just ain't a factor." -- Robert Gordon, author of It Came from Memphis.

"Bob Frank is a counterculture confederate with a capital C whose ribald songs (on his first album) mixed folk balladry, sex, an outlaw social consciousness and really good drugs. That he took about 30 years to follow it up says less about his talent than his inability to suffer the music biz gladly. Yet here he is with two remarkable recent records." -- J.R., nashvillescene.com.

"Back in '72 a gifted Memphis singer-songwriter landed a one-album deal with Vanguard Records, and the eponymous Bob Frank -- eventually, a hot collector's item -- earned critical comparisons to Gordon Lightfoot, Ian Tyson and, as one wag put it, 'a barefoot Randy Newman.' Three decades later, Frank resurfaces, with his Memphis chum Jim Dickinson (and assorted players including the North Mississippi Allstars), for the followup. From Latin-flavored border radio rock to Townes Van Zandt-styled talking blues to antiqued Americana in a distinctive Band vein, it's a good-playin', good-storytellin' gem. Welcome back, Mr. Frank -- what's on tap for the next 30 years?" -- Fred Mills, Goldmine.

"The album is a blend of country, folk and blues that showcases Frank's supple baritone." -- Tom Wilk, No Depression.

Well, so much for in-depth research. Bob didn't disappear in San Francisco. He disappeared in Oakland. But the point is, Bob "disappeared into obscurity." Anyway, you can't really blame Nick for this error. He was just quoting another obscure musician, the legendary producer and blues player, Jim Dickinson. Jim's sort of obscure. He's not as obscure as Bob Frank. Nobody's that obscure. Bob's dad always told him, "Whatever you do, son, do it better than anybody else." So when Bob decided to do obscurity, he didn't fool around. He became so obscure, he couldn't find his own shoes. That's why the only pictures you ever see of him, he's always barefoot.

This led one critic to call him "a barefoot Randy Newman." Bob told me himself, "You know, I don't mind being called barefoot," he said, as he stood there with no shoes on, "but I think I'm more like Randy Hayes than Randy Newman."