I could begin this review by invoking one or two of the more renowned transcendentalists of the 19th century. You know how it would it go: "In Walden, his masterpiece of transcendent ideology, Henry David Thoreau wrote, 'I went to the woods because I wished--" I don't even need to finish the sentence, do I? Quoting from Ralph Waldo Emerson's Nature might be more tactful, but barely. His lecture, The Transcendentalist, is a more obvious, if less-cited source, but the quotes are all too vague.
Invoking these writers would be too easy, too obvious, and certainly too academic, not to mention slightly inaccurate: "Transcendentalism" was a spiritual movement; Steve Earle simply has "transcendental blues," which is quite different. Therefore, I'm not going to start my review in such a way.
Now, I could pull out Webster and define "transcendental" for you, but that wouldn't suffice because the definition, by its very nature, precludes a definitive definition. Earle, likewise, struggles with the idea of transcendence in his liner notes. He humorously contests one definition-- "the act of going through something"-- by writing, "Ouch. I see plate glass windows and divorces." Finally, he arrives at the conclusion that "transcendence is about being still enough long enough to know when it's time to move on."
So maybe I should tell a personal story of dubious relevance, as is my wont. There's the time I awoke at midnight at 11,000 feet on Mt Rainier. The full, blue moon ignited the top layer of the endless cloud a few hundred feet below us-- a sight I've never seen outside of an airplane. Or maybe I could tell the story about when I hallucinated atop a cemetery hill. I walked in a tight circle for almost an hour because, as I explained later, "I needed to reassure myself of my physical presence in the world."
But that's my literary crutch, so I musn't indulge. Which leaves me with a final instance of transcendence: the album itself. The title track opens the record with a harmonium that's quickly interrupted by-- yes-- a bleep. But after some soft thumping reminiscent of Yo La Tengo's latest, the song progresses into the exemplary roots-rock that one expects from Earle, replete with lines like, "Happy ever after 'til the day you die/ Careful what you ask for, you don't know 'til you try."
Maybe because he doesn't want to surprise the listener, Earle waits a bit before displaying his expanded sound. The next two tracks continue in a similar roots-rock vein, although each is decidedly unique. Then, in a single stroke of apparent ease, Earle delivers "I Can Wait," a dead-on excursion into the reflective, laid-back country groove the Jayhawks have made a career of.
Earle finally breaks out with the Cash-ian ballad "The Boy Who Never Cried." As Earle's unaccompanied voice establishes the story of the boy, a harmonium again rises up, soon joined by a unobtrusive 12-string. But as the song builds, Earle slowly infuses it with perfectly placed, emotive orchestral hooks. Then, all is stripped down as he delivers the clincher in a strained, Dylan-esque fashion: the boy lived alone until death, at which point, "He shed a single tear for a boy who never cried."
After a couple of Irish jigs (of sorts), the pace slows down again for "Lonelier Than This," which, in its subtle power, is on par with early Springsteen. Likewise for "Halo 'Round the Moon," a song that checks in after a few more top-shelf roots-rockers. "Until the Day I Die" is another valiant attempt at creating a bluegrass classic worthy of Mr. Monroe (one of Earle's professed goals). After "All of My Life," an invigorating italicized rock song, the album is rounded out by "Over Yonder (Jonathan's Song)," a plaintive, mandola-sprinkled epitaph of sorts with a fitting, regretful conclusion: "Shinin' down on all of them that hate me/ I hope goin' brings 'em peace."
Earle's music doesn't simply mirror the transcendence of its creator; it lends transcendence to the listener as well, as all excellent music will. But what truly makes this one of Earle's best records is that he refuses to be pulled down by musical decisions. It's as if he never faced a problem of whether or not to add this or that instrument, or to veer off in this or that direction. He simply had the idea and went with it. This is one manifestation of transcendent thought: there's no such thing as indecision because an idea necessarily ignites action.
