WHEN Steve Earle walks on stage he is never alone, and certainly never when he is playing solo. His demons and their influence on his life costar in a moving exploration of a career which once promised so much, then fell foul to grim excess, before being reborn courtesy of a remarkable comeback a few years ago.
His concert on Sunday nights was testimony to his rejuvenated artistic spirit and his physical well being. He played for two hours and 40 minutes, punctuating a broad sweep of his songwriting peaks, with acknowledgments to formative influences such as the late fellow Texan singer songwriter Townes Van Zandt, who died con January 1st, and the blues players, Mance Lipscomb and, Lightin Hopkins. It was a resounding show, though the length of the performance tested the stamina of even the most ardent fans.
Earle is a hard hitting roots rock songwriter who takes no prisoners. His more boisterous efforts betray an untamed soul while his slower material gets to the heart of the matter quickly and succinctly. His two comeback albums, Train Corn in and The Hard Way, have each pointed the way back from the drug fuelled treadmill described so accurately in South Nashville Blues. Shorn of the excess baggage of a band Earle's raw power, honesty and sheer class shine through. Onstage, however, it can get a little too one dimensional.
Sunday's show was a case in point. After a sizzling opening in which he invoked the spirit of Woody Guthrie, he allowed the set to drift or perhaps he just went on too long. Certainly the show would benefit from judicious pruning and the occasional diversion such as he employed during the encores when he was joined by the excellent support, The Delevantes, a female singer and his teenage son. But when Earle plays a song as emotionally complete as Can't Remember If We Said Goodbye, all is forgiven.
