wisdom of musical narrowcasting, he straddles a bunch of styles with the nimble ease of a homespun visionary who correctly sees that ultimately it's all one.

Nothing here can match its predecessor, I Feel Alright, for starkly confessional takes on addiction and romance, but that's because the new album is more about getting out in the world than it is about dwelling on the recovering self. On El Corazó, a fit and feisty Earle lights out for the territory, dropping place names in what amounts to a travelogue by a writer/rover with a perspicacious eye. There's "Christmas in Washington," a moving plea for the rebirth of an honest, Woody Guthrie-style heroism in a morally indifferent America. From that hushed acoustic opener, Earle slams into "Taneytown," a harrowing tale of race, violence and lines crossed that's delivered with craggy, tempestuous blows a la Neil Young and Crazy Horse. Earle's quixotic odyssey also carries him to Houston ("Telephone Road," whose down-and-outers still manage to raise a Saturday-night ruckus) and Fort Worth, Texas ("Ft. Worth Blues," an elegy to fellow traveler and kindred spirit Townes Van Zandt).

Best of all is "N.Y.C.," a giddy ode to the big city's mythic lure, which you'll be humming into the next millennium. On it, Earle is backed by Seattle's Supersuckers. Elsewhere, Earle delves into pure bluegrass with the Del McCoury Band (on "I Still Carry You Around") and kicks up a righteous cloud of dust with his own forthrightly rocking group. Talk about range – this guy is right at home on it. (RS 775)

PARKE PUTERBAUGH