Welcome to the Texas Canon, a series that dives into the movies, TV shows, books, albums, and more that represent us and reach far beyond the Lone Star State’s borders. Today we look at legendary guitarist Stevie Ray Vaughan's debut album, 'Texas Flood.'

Stevie Ray Vaughan wasn’t the first blues artist to see the sweet-and-lowdown potential of the nursery rhyme “Mary Had a Little Lamb”; one of his idols, Buddy Guy got there first, in the late 1960s. But when Vaughan recorded the song for his 1983 debut album Texas Flood, he made it his own. Somewhere between his badass laconic drawl and his monstrous fretwork, “Mary” became an SRV joint, piquant and soulful and slick all at once.

Those same qualities apply to the entirety of Texas Flood, an album that made an unmistakable announcement: This is a guitarist you need to take very, very seriously. Drenched in the traditions of the blues masters — including Guy, Albert King, and Muddy Waters — Texas Flood found immediate crossover appeal among rockers, myself included, intoxicated by virtuoso guitar playing. The title song, originally recorded by Larry Davis (and which describes a condition with which Houstonians are all too familiar), sets the tone for the entire session, all bent notes and killer chords, a blues storm coming straight at you. It is natural disaster as cathartic release, a warning that Hurricane Stevie has arrived and you’d best take cover.

Vaughan grew up following the lead of older brother Jimmie, a fierce bluesman in his own right who found his own rock ‘n’ roll following with The Fabulous Thunderbirds. Growing up in Oak Cliff, a proudly blue-collar (and now rapidly gentrifying) Dallas neighborhood, he found refuge from a raging alcoholic father in music. Like so many musicians, he found his way to Austin as quickly as he could, gigging around town, making his name, and forming Double Trouble, the trio with which he recorded. It’s not hard to find an old head eager to tell you about when he or she used to see Vaughan jamming at this or that Austin (or Dallas) nightspot. There’s no questioning Vaughan’s candidacy for the Texas Canon; he’s about as Lone Star as they come.

A first listen of Texas Flood brings a bit of jolt and a few thoughts. Such as: The way this guy manhandles his ax, he must have giant hands. He does indeed, much like another one of his idols, this one on the rock side, Jimi Hendrix (whose “Voodoo Child (Slight Return)” Vaughan covered for his exemplary sophomore release, Couldn’t Stand the Weather. There’s something about Stevie Ray Vaughan and climate conditions). This observation leads to the next: He had remarkable power to go with his blazing speed. Listen to instrumentals like “Rude Mood,” off Texas Flood, or “Scuttle Buttin’,” which kicks off Couldn’t Stand the Weather, to get a sense of why Vaughan remains a god to guitar geeks everywhere. But he knew how to slow things down, too. “Lenny” (from Texas Flood), a lovely instrumental ballad, brings to mind another Hendrix song Vaughan liked to cover, “Little Wing.”

Like anyone who gets to the top, Vaughan had help along the way, including from John Hammond, the producer/scout who brought Vaughan to the attention of Epic Records; David Bowie, who enlisted Vaughan to play on his 1983 album Let’s Dance (that’s Vaughan soloing on the title single); and Jackson Browne, whose personal recording studio hosted the Texas Flood session. But when Texas Flood hit the scene, he was a session man no more. “Love Struck Baby” earned regular rotation on the fledgling MTV, and Double Trouble concerts became hot tickets around the world.

Those concerts could be hit or miss. Vaughan inherited the family substance addiction, and he spent a lot of time drunk and stoned. You could usually tell when he was deep under the influence in concert; his playing got sloppy, though the skill was always evident, and his underrated singing voice, both clear and down-and-dirty when he was in good shape, would descend into slurring. Conversely, when he was sober, there was nobody like him. I was fortunate enough to see him on the 1989 tour he co-headlined with Jeff Beck (Beck came on first, if memory serves). It was a religious experience, a meeting of two guitar gods at the height of their powers, one of those shows you’d like to bottle up and keep with you forever.

I also remember walking across the college quad a little less than a year later and overhearing that Vaughan was dead. They must be mistaken, I thought. Then I saw the afternoon newspaper — these existed before the internet made them obsolete — and read the news for myself. A helicopter crash in Wisconsin. Only 35 years old. I must admit my first thought was selfish (I was 20, whaddya want?). I’ll never get to see him play again.

But I can always listen to Texas Flood, which I turn to far more often than Couldn’t Stand the Weather, or the perfectly adequate Soul to Soul (1985), or his other releases. To me, it remains the purest encapsulation of his musical fury, when he was ravenously hungry and yet, somehow, already fully formed.