WHAT DO YOU DO WHEN YOU'RE LONESOME

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’s Harlem 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.