So let’s say you heard this fellow singing that down where he was born and raised, “white lightnin’ was the biggest thrill to be found.” You might assume that he’d swiped the line off of Merle Haggard. And that’s exactly where you’d be wrong: Springfield, Mo., native Marlin Wallace explains very carefully that what it was was communism. “The reds began using lasers on me as far back as 1961,” he writes in the extensive liner notes to his band the Corillions’ 1982 Double Album, newly reissued by Falls Church’s Rasslin Records. In the section headlined “COMMUNIST PLAGIARISM,” he reveals, “The reds are not only stealing ideas from my conscious mind, but they are also pilfering information from my subconscious mind.” As soon as he thinks something up, the reds, among them “a TV staff writer in Los Angeles, California” and “three writers in New York,” switch around “just enough notes and words to legally get away with it,” then kick back and wait for the royalty checks. All of which makes plain why it is Wallace’s “Georgia Corn Liquor Man” bears a passing resemblance to “Okie From Muskogee.” It’s all communism, OK? Aside from the obvious copyright problems, there’s another good reason the big boys didn’t just carbon-copy Wallace’s songs: He’s a real original, and he managed to get that way by putting his own inimitable stamp on the lip-smackingest radio dross from the’50s/’60s heyday of rockabilly, folk, and traditional country. Not to detract from his sui generosity, but, on the evidence of such titles as “The Planet Mars,” “Mekong,” and “Abominable Snow Creature,” he seems to have lost his way somewhere in the vicinity of the wrecked careers of Sheb Wooley, Staff Sgt. Barry Sadler, and Johnny Horton. Leonard Nimoy, too, foundered in that Bermuda Triangle of schlock, and on the faltering high notes of Wallace’s “Colorado River,” you can hear ghosts of the master’s “It’s Getting Better”—originally plundered, of course, from Wallace’s brainpan. And when he isn’t sweating the finer points of “mental slavery,” hunting down another jungle-animal sound effect, or testifying about the “Mark of the Beast,” Wallace shows himself to know his way around an aaa rhyme scheme at least as well as Lou Reed (which isn’t to say that the spell of electroshock therapy Marlin underwent as a teen will prove to be the career boon it was for Lou). Balanced assessment: If you’ve ever thought “P.S. I Love You” was addressed to a paranoid schizophrenic, hoo boy, is this the record for you. —Glenn Dixon