Steve Earle: Copperhead Road : Music Reviews : Rolling Stone

Album Reviews

In 1986 and 1987, Steve Earle made two great records – Guitar Town and Exit 0 – on which he established a vivid Southern-working-class identity and melded aspects of country, folk and rock. Even though his band had a steel guitarist, rock fans saw Earle as a spiritual cousin of Bruce Springsteen, John Cougar Mellencamp, Ronnie Van Zant and Bob Dylan. Meanwhile, the barons of country music in Nashville, Earle's home town, treated him like this generation's Waylon Jennings – a talented, possibly crazy renegade with limited commercial appeal on the rhinestone-cowboy circuit. Though those two records sold well, no one in the country-music business was about to mistake Earle for Randy Travis at awards time.

This was a quandary for Earle, because, like Springsteen and Van Zant, he's a populist artist. And to achieve greatness, a populist needs a great audience. That may explain why Earle fortified his band with new players (most notably Donny Roberts, the guitarist in Webb Wilder's band) and went to Memphis to record Copperhead Road.

Inevitably, it will be called Steve Earle's rock record. In fact, it's an extension of the country rock of his last two albums, with the guitars and drums turned up a few notches. Earle calls this the world's first hybrid of heavy metal and bluegrass, but perhaps a better name would be power twang.

The album, which begins murderously and ends sentimentally, is split into two song cycles. Side one, which is as powerful as any music made this year, chronicles the fate of modern "white trash," with repeated references to Vietnam, illicit substances, isolation, violence and the emotional tow of the family. The title track is about a doperunning vet with rebellion in his genes; a similar character narrates "Johnny Come Lately," which is recorded with the Irish hellions the Pogues. "Snake Oil" is Earle's most pointedly political track to date, a jab at the Reagan legacy of creative deceit. But rather than listing his charges in an indictment, as Jackson Browne or Little Steven might, Earle assumes the character of the con artist, in the manner of Randy Newman, and makes the song more disturbing by reveling in his sleazy sales pitch and John Jarvis's giddy sideshow piano.

Earle's voice sounds more worn, too, with a gruff tenderness bordering on a ravaged rasp. The equally flinty music reflects his fondness for Guns n' Roses and the Replacements. Along with coproducer Tony Brown and engineer Joe Hardy, Earle weaves mandolin, steel guitar, Celtic drones and Roberts's propulsive guitar into a dense sonic menace, like a twangy version of the Stones' Exile on Main Street.

After that kick in the head, it's difficult not to be disappointed by the conventional love songs on side two. Earle has already examined this terrain and done a better job of it.

On Copperhead Road, Earle accepts the challenge of being an important artist. Though the material sometimes falters or recycles themes he's already explored, the album should broaden the singer's following and enliven rock radio. That's enough of an accomplishment for the first chapter of power twang.