Still, Parnell - a true Texas roadhouse texture as versed in the stinging blues of Stevie Ray Vaughan as the swirling swing of dear family friend Bob Wills - has a voice that blankets songs and emotions with an ease that comes from living, not forcing the moments he's inhabited.
With his new "Back To The Well" CD, the sandy-haired guitarist takes the sum of that life he's lived so fully and brings it to the songs he's collected for the project.
"You know, I'd gone down every path I needed to go down," confesses the singer/songwriter. "Every song we wrote for this one was deeper...it came from the deepest places."
"I wasn't trying to make a record, either, so I tricked myself...I wasn't trying to hit a home run, where you roll up your sleeves, and it's all about the hits. 'Breaking The Chain,' 'Back To The Well' - those are from very very real places."
"After all these years, you realize: this is forever. So these songs...these were messages, letters to the people I'd want to leave 'em, too. All these songs went to someone - so that I know they'd know."
One of the earmarks of Parnell's singing was always his ability to weave a spell of intimacy and vulnerability over even the most rough-hewn beats.
Whether it was the crack through the resolve of former Amazing Rhythm Ace Russell Smith's "The Rock," the searing passion of "Love Without Mercy" or his own pride and freedom manifesto "On The Road" that felt like a bit like John Steinbeck in Springsteen's back 40, the expatriated Texan - to borrow from his own title - had a true gift for "Holding My Own."
And so it was that in the early '90s, when Alan Jackson, Clint Black and George Strait were making croon-centric traditionalism the earmark of mainstream country, the now 46-year-old songwriter figured out how to turn up the soul, bring the raw and burning guitars and use his juke joint credentials to make room for a whole other kind of country.
It was funky. It was rugged. It packed the kind of emotional wallop that made Merle Haggard's dry-eyed sentimentality so potent - and even when it was conjured to cohere to mainstream radio, some of Parnell's Texas ardor shone through,"What Kind of Fool (Do You Think I Am)," "Tender Moment," "Heart's Desire," "Take These Chains (From My Heart)," which featured Okie/Texas vocal scorcher Ronnie Dunn in a rare duet, and "She Won't Be Lonely for Long" populated the dial, but Parnell yearned for something a bit tougher, more real.
When his tenure with Arista Nashville came to an end - Tim DuBois had been lured from the label and New York chairman Clive Davis moved on - the winds of change blew cold.
"I found out - like a lot of the acts that were right around the margins, acts like me and BR-549 - that I was dropped from the newspaper. Literally. A friend of mine called me up and said, 'Have you seen The Tennessean?' I told him I hadn't - and he's like you better get the paper."
Still with the journeyman's mettle, Parnell - who didn't move to Nashville until 30, and then only at the urging of his cousin Robert Earl Keen and good friend Lyle Lovett to pursue songwriting as a way to get closer to the music business - punched through the confusion, disappointment and most likely hurt to recognize the opportunity he was being presented.
"When that whole era ended, I knew exactly where I was headed," confesses the man who's had songs recorded by Patty Loveless, Delbert McClinton, Garth Brooks and Trisha Yearwood. "And I think it's what makes Texas musicians so hard to pigeon hole, too..."
"You know, I don't even try to explain it any more. When people ask me, 'Well, what kind of music do you play?' I just smile and tell 'em 'Listen to it, and if you can figure it out...You tell me!' Because in Texas, especially playing out live, you have to be able to play so many things: blues and rock and Western swing, honky tonk and country - and you have to treat them all right, too."
"So, it really teaches you about songs and styles. It really gets you inside the music."
Inside the music for Parnell - who went to Muscle Shoals with Nashville songwriter/blues denizen Gary Nicholson to record "Tell The Truth" - meant reacquainting himself with soul, Southern rock and a deeper kind of rhythm & blues.
Always an incendiary guitarist, the lyrical voice of his playing began to truly develop into a voice of its own. 'In getting let go, Parnell also got set free - and it sent him on a journey to places he'd not been since he was banging around the beer joints of Texas and later living in New York and serving his time as one of Kinky Friedman's Texas Jewboys. If it was a vast horizon, it was also a thrill ride through what so many would regard as utter devastation.