Jerry Jeff Walker is the real deal.

A self-described “gypsy songman,” Walker has played his blend of poetry and profanity for over three decades, building a steady and loyal following along the way. Based in Austin, Texas, a city of which he has become a primary cultural export, Walker writes with the simple power of the best of his contemporaries and delivers his material with suitable flair.

His biggest “success,” so to speak, came when the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band hit the top 10 with his composition, “Mr. Bojangles,” one of the greatest of the innumerable early-’70s story songs. During his 1970s heyday, Walker, who rocks as hard as anybody, was often driven by a large quantity of alcohol, but his tapestry extends far beyond merely the doors of the roadhouse — not that there’s anything wrong with the roadhouse.

Walker recently spoke to the Badger Herald.

The Badger Herald: How do you approach songwriting?

Jerry Jeff Walker: Well, I get something in mind that I think would be good, and I kinda just write it out. My daughter just got engaged, so I wrote about that. Something just … fantasy. I like to just pick up the guitar and fool with it.

BH: Who or what are your major influences?

JJW: When I started playing and singing, I listened a lot to original Jimmie Rodgers, and I tried to get some of his style; [also] Woody Guthrie, Bob Dylan, Ramblin’ Jack Elliot. [I listened to] how they performed their own songs, and I kinda got a feel for it.

See, to do what Woody did or Jimmie Rodgers did, you had to do it exactly the way they did it, whereas they were just doing it. So that’s why I knew I had to start writing.

BH: You’ve always been known for a fierce streak of independence. To what do you attribute that independence?

JJW: Probably started when I was a street singer. You get independence from that, ’cause you just walk down the street. There was a tendency to try and make me sound like something else, and I didn’t know what that was … and they didn’t either, so why try it?

I gravitated toward those folks in Austin that we always called the ‘Austin Interchangeable Dance Band.’ My friend Steven Fromholz said that we played ‘bluegrass science-fiction country and western gospel rock.’ People brought different stuff to the table, because everybody was listening to everything.

Whatever the song felt like, play it that way. You know, in Nashville they’re trying to cut 12 singles, and that’ll be the album. We were just trying to cut songs. They call it a record, so it should be a record of your experiences. That’s what we were doing; it had an immediate feel to it. Like ‘Sangria Wine.’

BH: Country writer Bill Malone describes your ‘aura of arrested adolescence.’ Do you think that’s an accurate representation, and, if not, how would you alter that description?

JJW: I wouldn’t say that I ‘arrested’ it; I just let it run rampant. I’m 60 now, so I’m trying to grow up, trying to respect the boundaries. But I think you’re about as old as you think you are.

You can have worldly experiences, but you don’t want to be beaten down by it. If a 26-year-old poet loves the world, that doesn’t mean much, but if an 80 year old can say that, we give him a salute, because if he can believe that after all he’s been through … I’ve had physical problems, and I realize that good health and mobility adds to enjoyment of life.

By the same token, if you’re in the battle and stay active, you can keep a young spirit. Music is rejuvenating; I feel like I know these people again. Go back in time and plug into where I was. When I’m jumpin’ around having a good time — it feels like that.

BH: Anybody who’s been to Austin, Texas, can attest to that city’s unique magic. What is it about Austin?

JJW: There were actually three or four towns: Lafayette, La., Austin, Texas, Madison, Wis., and Ann Arbor, Mich. Small towns, big colleges. I think that’s why so many musicians became embedded here.

BH: You are considered an important part in the development of two concurrent and somewhat-connected musical scenes: the outlaw country movement and the proliferation of Austin-based songwriters. What do you feel was the contribution of both of those movements?

JJW: Hey, I’ve had fun. I’ve done a lot of music that embraces what I like, and that seemed to be passed on. You just do your own thing, and go your own way and make a living.

Now, with the Internet and computers making it simpler, more are just diving into making their own music. They’re not waiting for record companies.

BH: What are your opinions on the modern country-music scene?

JJW: I don’t really know much about it, so I don’t really have an opinion. It sounds like more the early Eagles to me, but that’s because country is appealing to the young people of the country.

There are fewer people living on the farm; if they grew up there, they’re moving to the city. In that sense, that is the ‘country’ experience. I saw Shania Twain on a motorcycle; that’s a long way from the girl in the print dress.

BH: What’s your favorite version, besides your own, of ‘Mr. Bojangles’?

JJW: Nina Simone had one out that was really interesting. I also liked the Dirt Band’s, because they had a big hit with it.

BH: How about your least favorite?

JJW: I heard a heavy-metal version in Europe that made my children laugh. There was also kind of a ‘skip-a-dee-doo’ version; I think Lulu was the artist.

BH: What would you like to see as your epitaph?

JJW: There’ll probably be some shit written on a bathroom wall somewhere that’ll sum it all up. I don’t know. Just say that I loved life, and I got my fair share.

BH: And good Madison stores?

JJW: Sure … we used to play the Echo Tavern a lot. One of those small bars that was always too crowded. Cold night, people drinkin’ schnapps and making too much noise.

People should come out. We’ll have a four-piece band, lot of good music, some old stuff, some new stuff, make ’em laugh and make ’em cry.

Jerry Jeff Walker will perform Nov. 14 at 7:30 p.m. at the Barrymore Theatre.