If, in this hangover time of our national Bubba-ness, Steve Earle isn't exactly a Great American, he'll have to do until the real thing comes along.
Earle likes to talk.
Michael Stipe is mad at him. If you're a talking, drinking writer, you just never know what's going to hit gray matter and what's gonna get lost in the scar tissue. No one would dare question Earle's hard-living credentials. His highly checkered past is laid out clearly if you ride down Lewis Street on Nashville's exceedingly sketchy south side, where Earle crashed for almost three years, beginning in 1991, whiling away his days, his nights, and most of his once-burgeoning career by smoking crack and shooting speedballs. Only wrote four songs.