Lyle Lovett: Death Comes A-Knockin'

It’s Not Big It’s Large
Lyle Lovett and his Large Band
(Curb/Lost Highway)

Even for fans, Lyle Lovett has always been a bit of a mystery. His persona is tough to figure out, and his music even tougher to pigeonhole. In the ’80s, along comes this long, tall Texan with the tumbleweed coiffure who’s being hailed as one of the next great things in country music (like Steve Earle, who had more conventional hair). But within a couple of albums he’s not making country music anymore. Not strictly, anyway. (Also like Mr. Earle). He’s spinning his own blend of country, folk, jazz blues and gospel that is seemingly without formula. Add a bit of western swing here, and a piece of Clifford Brown there. Throw in a Tammy Wynette cover, church it up a little and you’re getting closer to the mélange that makes Lovett such a singular artist. Add a bit of whimsy, and a big dollop of twisted humor and you’ve pretty much got it. But what have you got?

Some consider Lovett to be unconventionally handsome, some anything but. Without taking sides, it’s safe to say that Lovett has interesting, angular features and is a charmer. In 1993, he ended up married to Julia Roberts and divorced a couple of years later. How he managed to hook such a hottie has been the subject of much speculation since. The most popular theory long has been that there’s more largeness to Lyle than his band. But he’ll never tell. Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell. Nor do enigmas.

With the release of his new album, Lovett hasn’t become any easier to contain in one box. His is still a blend of American music that at times swings like a big ol’ dance band and at others reminds one that Lovett is part of the lineage of great Texas songwriters. His usual wry humor isn’t as prevalent as on past albums, but he hasn’t put it on the shelf, either. He’s his own man, with his own band. The title might refer to that, or it just might be a wink and a nod to all you gossip mongers: “It’s Not Big It’s Large.”

On his first studio album since 2003’s “My Baby Don’t Tolerate” and only his second since 1996’s “The Road to Ensenada” (with a covers collection, a live disc and a soundtrack in between), Lovett is putting forth his most serious collection of material since 1992’s “Joshua Judges Ruth.” There might be a very good reason: Lovett will turn 50 in November, and it’s natural that an artist would turn more introspective after half a century.

It might just be that this batch of songs is the clearest crystallization of Lovett’s diverse influences. He studied at the knees of some of Texas’ master songsmiths, and it just so happens that he has grown up to be their peer. That doesn’t stop Lovett from showing the proper respect. His 1998 covers collection, “Step Inside This House,” featured work by songwriters whom Lovett admired. Among them was Guy Clark, who has to be near the top of any list of Texas’ best. Here he adds a stately air with opening and closing cameos on “South Texas Girl.” In between, Lovett spins a childhood memory tale that starts out with him riding in the front seat with his folks and winds up with him riding with his girl as a middle-aged man, perhaps down those same roads, though now “these days with car seats / And open container laws / Social correctness leaves no room for Santa Claus.” (This is probably a good spot to stop and endorse the deluxe version of the disc, which includes a DVD. On it, you get to see Lovett and the other musicians work up arrangements of several of the songs and perform parts of them on stage. On “South Texas Girl,” you get a montage of Lovett home movies that range from his childhood through the huge-hair years and to the present day).

While “South Texas Girl” is a bit sad, it’s sweetly melancholy. “I Will Rise Up/Ain’t No More Cane,” a combination of a Lovett original and a traditional work song, is plain serious. It’s death-hanging-in-the-air serious. The song is a bit chilling from the shimmering opening chords, and even more so when Lovett sings “And I will rise up / Though I be a dead man.” The song builds, bringing the full power of the Large Band to bear and bringing forth gospel voices to bear witness. Later in the disc is a beautiful, haunting version of “Ain’t No More Cane” on its own.

Death is all over this disc. The elegiac “Don’t Cry a Tear” slowly rises forth from a spare arrangement of cello and gently coursing acoustic guitar. Bass, drums, steel guitar and piano glide gently into the mix, but the mood remains somber. The soft instrumentation allows Lovett’s vocal performance to be nakedly brave: “Shout if you can speak / Sing when you mention my name / Don’t cry a tear for me.”

The finger-picking that opens “This Traveling Around” is akin to the graceful work that opens “Don’t Cry a Tear,” and that’s probably not an accident. The singer of the latter wants to be remembered fondly. The narrator of the former is resigned to the life of the itinerant musician, as lonely as that existence can be. “This traveling around / It’s gonna be the death of me,” Lovett sings, leaving us not quite sure if he’ll die doing what he loves.

That confusion is cleared up on “All Downhill,” a much bouncier songwriter’s lament. In the song, which precedes “This Traveling Around” on the disc, Lovett acknowledges that life’s been good, but that doesn’t keep him from knocking on wood. “I’ve had an excellent time so far / There’s only one thing that I fear / I’ve been up so long on this lucky star / It could be all downhill from here.” Lovett also gives a shout out to three other guys who would know what he’s singing about, his partners in crime on recent songwriter tours: “Good luck you can’t buy it / Joe Ely and I sit next to that John Hiatt / We park next to Guy Clark / We sing when it gets dark.”

It’s not all sad. Lovett’s bouncy, bluegrassy “Up Indiana,” which is reprised in a more acoustic version at the end of the disc, is upbeat tune preoccupied with “a girl named Rose / Hair blond as hay / and long as a row.” Of course, we do discover that the singer of the song has so much time to think of this young lady because he’s in prison …

“Make it Happy,” in which Lovett claims to be “I’m a happy son of a gun,” leaves you believing that it’s true despite all that has come before it.

All in all, “It’s Not Big It’s Large” is a fairly impressive summation of Lovett’s career. Other albums have been more consistently brilliant. Others still were more eclectic. He does allow the players to stretch out on the opening track, a western swing-inspired version of jazzman Lester Young’s “Tickle Toe,” though it seems out of place compared to the other pieces on the album.

But that’s Lovett for you – a mystery to the end. He’s bound to cover a lot of ground, and with luck he’s got plenty more to cover. The scope of American music is not big … well, heh, you know what I mean.