My Steve Earle collection is surprisingly sporadic. Here I jump forward four albums.
The leap is a fun one though. Unlike the scarily skewed Copperhead Road, this is a complete album that keeps delivering from start to finish.
The opener (Christmas in Washington) is a fantastic slow burn lamenting the loss of genuine lefties from US politics. I’m sure Toby Ziegler would sing along (embarassingly).
The pace picks up for Taneytown, a ‘be careful where you go’ tale – a theme that reappears on the super-catchy Telephone Road, and is twisted the other direction in the inspiring (for travellers) NYC.
Earle seems less constrained by musical conventions here. Rather than being just a country-rock, or acoustic-country or bluegrass effort, this album leaps about with confidence and enthusiasm.
Mandolins fire on some tracks (such as the delightful I Still Carry You Around). Others are much rockier (NYC). Many are humourous. You Know the Rest is a songwriter at complete ease with his abilities.
This is the album I put on to demonstrate than Earle is much more than that Copperhead Road song that I like to butcher. It also showcases how vital and exciting roots music (for want of a better term) can be.
I originally owned this album on cassette. Now, kiddies, these little plastic things had half the songs on one side, and then you turned them over and listened to the other side.
If you didn’t like the other side, you could just rewind and listen to your favoured side again.
That happened a lot with this album. I can’t think of an album with a bigger disparity between sides.
Side A is outstanding. It kicks off with the rollicking title track – one of my ‘go to’ karoake tunes – a tale of booze- and drug-running. The pounding drums and the country-rock rebel imagery has guaranteed Earle a hairy, bikey following ever since.
The pace keeps up with Snake Oil, the full-band version of Devil’s Right Hand, and The Pogues-backed Johnny Come Lately. The latter is a wonderful gelling of the Celtic and Southern, and a great tale. Here it is being recorded:
And the track:
So, at this stage we’re talking Top 10 spot on my rankings for sure. Then you turn it over, and Steve’s gone all soft and maudlin, with fluffy ballads, and a bizarre (but not in a cool way) Xmas carol! The bikers (and me) are not happy…
The music industry can be a harsh work environment. Steve Earle spent more than a decade trying to get his talent recognised and his recording works released.
This CD is a compilation of a few of these ignored, belated and unloved efforts. It is more of a curiosity than anything else.
It is the record of a performer and songwriter trying to find a voice. Earle wrote a few country hits for mainstream artists, and you can hear the more generic approach he was taking here.
The songs are a mix of rockabilly and MOR country. There is little angst, little passion. It is country-by-numbers.
The only rough diamond in the mix is an early recording of a song he would polish up in to a real gem later in his career – Devil’s Right Hand. I love the later version. This early incarnation is merely a demo in comparison.
Perhaps the music honchos were correct back in the late 70s and early 80s in questioning Earle’s acumen. And the heartbreak and grudge would drive his later brilliance.
None of that motivates owning this. Seek out other works.
File under: A glimpse into the dull life of the A&R job
You might recall that at the turn of the decade I declared JTE’s 2009 performance in Melbourne as in my top 2 live shows of the year.
He was touring his sophomore full-lengther which I subsequently pickup on luscious vinyl.
The stand out tracks at the gig where his old-time, borderline rag-time tunes, his natty garb, and adorable southern twang.
He has the rare combo of a humble swagger, and an ability to pen bittersweet, back-handed lovesongs.
This album has all of that. As with his debut, I much prefer what, if I were a business school wanker, I might call his core competencies or point of difference – namely the traditional stuff.
Having said that, his more modern material has stepped up several notches in quality. He is more evocative, more confident and stepping further out of his pa’s shadow.
I bought tickets this week to his upcoming return visit to Melbourne, with a former Drive-By Trucker in tow. I’m excited and expect to see you all there.
Taking a sneak peek forward along the CD rack it is country and/or western as far as the eye can see (I do have poor vision however).
Indeed, I’m thinking I should go buy a pickup truck this weekend, acquire a mangy lookin’ hound, knock out my front teeth and develop a (more serious) drinking problem.
One dude who has certainly nurtured a bottle (and syringe) or two in his past is Justin Townes Earle. That shouldn’t be a big shock if you’ve read his dad, Steve’s bio. He’s the output of Steve’s third marriage (of seven!).
What is whackier is the throwback angle of JTE. His rebellion was to ignore post-war country music and embrace very old-school bluegrass.
Oh, and what a warm embrace it’s proved to be. It is like Hank Williams resurrected from his 1953 overdose, had a listen to a couple of Steve’s CDs and said “nah, I was better”. Tracks like Hard Livin’ and What Do You Do When You’re Lonesome are bluegrass masterpieces that’ll get you slapping your thigh and chewin’ tabaccie in no time:
Sure, at times this sounds like old Dad, but even that is a nice play to be.
Fred Eaglesmith must have been living life pretty hard in the decade between “Lipstick…” and this release.
His voice has transformed to that of a man who sounds like he’s been gargling gravel.
I say gravel, you think Tom Waits. It’s inevitable.
This release shares some elements with that musical god’s work.
It sits in Tom’s stompy, more traditional output, with that multi-layered vocal effect. The imagery is similar – of fields, religion, rural life.
It doesn’t have the vaudevillian quirkiness or absurdity of a Waits set.
Instead it is a more candid, honest and ’small’ release. Eaglesmith manages to invoke a slightly gothic, noir vibe without stepping across the theatrical line.
This guy should be bigger, should be appearing at festivals I attend, and I should have more of his releases.
And everyone should make video clips with Legomen:
The battering to Fred’s vocal chords has been worth it. And whatever has prompted this songwriting was an adventure/revelation to be appreciated by us listeners.
A few years back the missus returned from a Kasey Chambers show dolloping praise aplenty upon the support act – a Canadian solo artist who sang a killer track about white trash, and several more about trucks and drinking.
Being a Valentine of some standing, I have thus bought a couple of Fred Eaglesmith (for that was the artist in question) albums over the years as presents for my beloved.
We’ve yet to encounter that specific trailer-park chronicle she fell for, but we’ve certainly heard many tracks about alcohol and big rigs, along with odes to road vehicles of other dimensions.
Fred delivers dark country ballads with sufficient humour to break up the misery (I think I’ve just defined good country music). This album from 1997 has the requisite bragging about driving fast (105), cars (Pontiac), owning a gun (Seven Shells), needing a gun (Time to Get a Gun), and dangerous lives (Alcohol & Pills).
The guitar work is restrained and atmospheric, the vocals heartfelt. I like it. We should own more from this man, and should go see him when he’s next in town.
And, breaking news, in looking for a vid for this review, I found the illusive White Trash track, and it’s home album (and with Valentine’s Day just around the corner!):
The leap is a fun one though. Unlike the scarily skewed Copperhead Road, this is a complete album that keeps delivering from start to finish.
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