What do you do when you're lonesome The authorized biography of Justin Townes Earle

Music journalist Bernstein debuts with a vivid chronicle of the short, turbulent career of singer-songwriter Justin Townes Earle, who died of a drug overdose at age 38 in 2020. Earle grew up in the shadow of his father Steve Earle, a country-rock singer whose frequent absences during Earle's childhood spurred him to seek refuge in music. After dropping out of high school, Earle played in seedy clubs, building up a vast repertoire of original songs and developing a drinking and drug habit that dogged him throughout his career. (Earle recognized the destructive nature of the myth that "art and music as a higher calling.... requires suffering," Bernstein writes, while remaining somewhat powerless against its appeal.) Shunning the polished sound of Nashville's Music Row, Earle drew on the Great Depression--era folk tradition for an earthy, roots-inspired sound. Mainstream success arrived in 2010 with Earle's third album, Harlem River Blues, cementing his reputation for alternative songcraft even as the fame jeopardized his fragile sobriety. Revealing and raw interviews with Earle's family and confidantes add emotional depth to this comprehensive portrait, which also touches on such contemporaneous developments as the gentrification of East Nashville and the commercialization of indie music. The result is a rich character study and an insightful appraisal of the toll art can exact from its makers. (Jan.)Correction: An earlier version of this review mistakenly attributed a previous book, Lenny Bruce Is Dead, to the author. That book was written by Jonathan Goldstein.

A biography of a troubadour's triumph over major challenges and against considerable odds before succumbing to the time bomb within. Before Justin Townes Earle emerged as an Americana avatar, he was known mainly for the long shadow cast by his father, country outlaw Steve Earle. His father had become known for his druggy misbehavior as much as his music, before recovery turned his life around. Justin long claimed he was mainly raised by his mother, but her economic and psychological pressures didn't provide much balance. He went back and forth between the two but spent too much time on his own, unsupervised. He could be alternately sweet and feral, strong-willed and fragile, barely schooled and occasionally institutionalized. Whether because of his father's example or in spite of him, he found a lifeline in music. While battling his own addiction demons, he turned himself into a disciplined songwriter, a virtuosic guitarist, and an engaging performer. He forged a style deeply rooted in Southern regionalism, transcending race and musical category. He also developed an affinity for matching buoyant music with darker lyrics, many drawn from his experiences with heroin and family history. He hit an artistic peak breakthrough with 2010'sHarlem River Blues, but his life was falling apart. As this biography by journalist Bernstein illuminates with depth and nuance, few needed a support system more than Earle, and few were quicker to burn bridges. He hated to be told what to do, and his resistance turned to rage when he was abusing drugs and alcohol. Where his extended recovery early in the century had provided a cautionary tale, his less-public relapses turned tragic--amid pressures compounded by touring, recording, publicizing, marrying, and parenting. Neither tough love nor unconditional love seemed to work. In August 2020, after the Covid-19 pandemic had shut much of everything down, Earle wasn't discovered for a few days after an accidental overdose of cocaine laced with fentanyl. "He had died," writes Bernstein, "little more than a mile from the hospital in which he'd been born." A superb biography of a singular life. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.