It’s the new year, a time for resolutions and new beginnings, but I’m sitting here with a head full of memories.
Last night I watched a live stream of a concert for Justin Townes Earle at the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville. Curated by his father, singer/songwriter Steve Earle, musicians who knew and loved Justin and his work performed his songs, on what would have been his 41st birthday.
The line-up included among others Jason Isbell, Buddy Miller, Emmylou Harris, Shooter Jennings, Joe Pug, Lilly Hiatt, Amanda Shires, Elizabeth Cook, Willy and Cody Braun and of course, Steve Earle and the Dukes. Every artist had worked closely with or known Justin, each selecting songs from across his catalogue. In his too short life, he released eight full-length albums, and the performances last night highlighted just how extraordinary a songwriter and a performer he was.
Introducing Shooter Jennings (son of Waylon), Steve Earle revealed that after Justin died, he and Shooter spoke for about an hour, with Shooter saying both he and Justin bonded over their struggle to make their own mark, working in the shadow of their fathers. If there was ever any doubt, the tribute concert was definitive proof that Justin had stepped out of the shadows and created his own musical legacy.
I vividly remember the first time I saw Justin play. It was 2011 at the Forum in Melbourne and he was a bundle of nervous tics and twitches, foot stomping, finger-picking energy, rapid fire talking, oversharing details of his difficult family life.
I was mesmerised by his voice, the stories in his songs, the way he played guitar. And embarrassed it had taken me so long to pay attention to him.
After that show, I bought a ticket every time he toured Australia – which was often. I saw him at the Out of the Weekend Festival with his band, dapper in a suit and holding the crowd in his hand. I saw him with a full band, and solo on stage. I saw countless shows at Meeniyan, an afternoon gig at the Yarra Hotel, and one very special show in Sydney in 2012, where he played in a tiny room above a restaurant and the audience was so close you could almost reach out and touch him.
The very last time he toured Australia in 2019, I watched him shirtless and fragile in front of a reverential Meeniyan crowd, where the audience collectively held their breath as it was clear he was battling some demons – but no demon was enough to stop him singing like an angel. On stage, his energy was like an amp short fusing, sparks flying everywhere, beautiful but out of control, always teetering on the edge of brilliance or disaster.
He made something meaningful and glorious out of the mundane and brutal realities of life. He was messy and imperfect and troubled, but also capable of turning out a heartbreakingly beautiful tune or tuning into the frailties of life and love.
Justin Townes Earle died on August 20, 2020.
The Ryman tribute show, A Celebration of Justin Townes Earle is streaming for 48 hours on Mandolin. Money raised from the show goes to a trust for his four-year-old daughter Etta St. James Earle.
