The Devil's Right Hand

I almost met Steve Earle, once.

It was in the Acoustic Tent at Glastonbury in 2005 - he had wowed us Friday evening, headlining that same tent in solo mode, and earlier that day we had caught Allison Moorer's set. When she came on to duet with him, we learned that they were engaged, and she would become wife number six... or is it seven, it's not easy to recall, since he married one twice, and anyway, it mostly happened when he was inebriated, i.e. incessantly between the ages of 14 and 40.

Anyway, Sunday afternoon, the festival winding down and the mud depleting any remaining energy, I went to see Patty Griffin in the same Acoustic Tent. She was marvellous, but unusually poorly attended. It seemed like the crowd consisted of just me... and Steve and Allison. He was pretty rock n' roll, with shirtsleeves rolled up right over his biceps, and his wallet attached to his jeans with a long robust chain, enough to deter anyone from trying to pinch either. And they were standing right next to me.

As Patty finished her set, I brayed for an encore and was just about to give Steve a friendly nudge (I figured that he would agree with me that he, Allison and Patty were all pretty damn fine at this singer/songwriter stuff), when I turned to see them walking off hand-in-hand towards backstage. Missed my chance.

I just finished reading Hardcore Troubadour: The Life and Near Death of Steve Earle by Lauren St John, and that missed chance weighs more heavily.

If Steve Earle weren't a living, breathing person, he'd be a character in a blues song -- a raucous ballad about a gifted rebel who drank too much, lost most of his women in a blizzard of crack and cocaine addiction, and always came out on the wrong side of the law. Somewhere in the midst of all this, he also managed to weld rock to country, the Beatles to Springsteen, and bluegrass to punk, establishing himself among the most thoroughly original and politically astute musicians of his generation. Granted unrestricted access to Steve and his family and friends, Lauren St John has given us a sometimes shocking, often moving, and completely unvarnished biography of one of America's most talismanic sons.

You can tell that St John worked for The Sunday Times and also writes biographies of professional golfers - I'm not sure that amongst the wild and hoary epithets I have for Steve Earle's life, him being hit for six would figure. Nevertheless, she does a great job. Ironically, I now like Steve the person less, but respect his music more.

Which leads me to introduce the first of a series of Axiomatic Things I've Learned At Gigs (ATILAGs):

There is no live music set which cannot be improved by a guest appearance from Steve Earle.

viz. Sharon Shannon, Allison Moorer and The Waterboys at this summer's Cambridge Folk Festival, where a hirsute Steve made another Friday night for me.