Songs you like played slower. And that's when you're lucky. For the first half-hour, it's songs you half-recall from Jerusalem, ground through with all the urgent fire your grandparents bring to the sack most nights. Then there's a speech detailing the big boy's political thoughts (the gist is he has them) and then a fairly kick-ass "Harlan Man" that crunches electric and bluegrass together well enough for you to think maybe Earle's still worth your attention after all. Then he freights "Copperhead Road" with a lengthy fife-and-drum intro. (It doesn't really have a fife on it, but you can hear where it would go.) You know a coke habit's a horrible thing, and you're glad Steve kicked it, but you also know that somewhere deep inside, speechifying is just as self-indulgent. So are self-importance and double-disc live sets dubbed audio documentaries. So is bloat -- that refers not to his girth but to his insistence on taking up short stories and loops and beats and a haiku a day without developing any particular aptitude for any of them. The second disc is more intimate: quiet solo stuff; a Townes Van Zandt cover; five minutes of talk before "Christmas in Washington," a song so mighty that even Earle's indifference can't kill it. He closes with a sprightly "(What's So Funny About) Peace, Love and Understanding," which is followed by, of all things, a studio track performed and written by his son, Justin. It's titled "Time You Waste," which must be a punch line, coming as it does 110 minutes after it all started.