On , established himself as a songwriter of true substance and a purveyor of relative truth. There was no cynicism in his vision, and like , he understood that the image in a song communicates everything and all language should be directed to conveying it. On digs deeper into his roots, and deeper into his portrayal of the image, so that the listener gets an actual picture in her or his mind. The rambling, pastoral with its whining dobro, lonesome harmonica, and -style guitar picking, offers a tale of simple backcountry love amid the plenitude of the land and the absence of money. But like all innocence, it breaks down into a reality not expressed here, yet referred to as a gazer through the past where the scar on the heart is plainly visible. The that is comes from the mouth of a black-lung miner on his deathbed, who recounts his inability to resolve the fact that there are "millions in the ground, but not a penny for me." Economics is also the theme of not and . Here is 's ghost speaking through the mouth of fellow Okie with a dobro, a thumping standup bass, and an acoustic guitar leading the seance. The title track, with its electric guitars and modern riff, is a snapshot of pot-bellied truckers, whiskey, red-headed waitresses, and lonely midnights all engaged in reconciling broken dreams yet not giving up on life. They're all separate, all inseparable: "A lot of lonely people just like me." 's fiddle solo soars in the bridge. is one of 's most covered songs, but its easy-swinging -style execution in his gorgeous tenor makes it a late-night lounge lizard's anthem full of wheel-spinning-in-a-rut . The set ends on the up though, with It's a strutting with exhorting his lover to say the hell with everything in order to go out on the town and raise some hell. This is a fitting end, considering this has been an album about the tough side of the working and loving life, and this small bit of relief is all anyone has a right to expect after all. is a masterful work by one of music's most profound and empathetic of talents. ~ Thom Jurek