One should take heed to conflate Luba Dvorak, the man, with the Luba Dvorak behind six strings and a microphone.

The former is a family man carrying a music tradition passed along through his bloodline. He is a taciturn figure of observation and honest reflection; but make no mistake, there is a reckoning that churns beneath that calm surface. You may think that you know him, but there is a part of him that you’ve most certainly misunderstood.

Perched above and just behind a microphone set center-stage, Luba Dvorak smelts his private demeanor and shapes it into a pair of dark sunglasses which he stashes beneath his brow hidden behind the brim of a hat. The quiet mystery of the man becomes a brash amalgam of roots influences that delivers tales of passionate struggle, celebration, and perhaps even a bit of warning. He will growl and croon. He will shred and pick. He will shimmy and kick. He will rock and he will tonk. He drinks a white wine spritzer with a red wine chaser. You may think you know him, but you’ve probably only begun to misunderstand him.

He is an artist with much to say in a tradition that is commonly regarded as in memoriam, yet Luba returns to that place to decorate the headstone with respect and to vow to keep the art of the folk singer alive and thriving, finding poignant ways to remind us all that his role is a conception of reverence to a craft that deserves preservation for our own moments of despair and revelry.

From being born in Czechoslovakia, raised in Vancouver, Canada, and honed by New York City, Luba moved in 2017 to found his next settlement for “Brooklyn Twang” in Houston, Texas, where he leaned into the musical influence of a tradition all its own. His latest album, “Dumpster Fire,” pays tribute to the sonic stylings of a City and State with their own particular flare of deliberate intent. It is as adept at slowly bleeding time from under the tourniquet of the hill country as it is presenting a bit of chin music with the force of freeway traffic. As you come to know this collection of songs, you may find that you’ve misunderstood yourself, and that’s just what Luba, the man, would like.