By 1989, Lyle Lovett had already been kicking around for a couple of years. He cut a unique figure from the start, a Texan Eraserhead with a knife-slash mouth, and there was a buzz about his songwriting chops based on tunes like “God Will” and “Pontiac” — perfectly-crafted little gems, both gorgeous and unflinching. But there was, in his earlier records, a sense that Lyle was still a work in progress. His persona shifted variously to the traditionalist and ironist camps. With Lyle Lovett and His Large Band, from its ruthlessly literal title on down, he gets definitive by getting ambiguous. It’s a neat trick.
“Here I Am” (download) stakes out Lovett’s unique territory. A stomping, shouting blues vamp is continually interrupted by a series of surreal, goofy asides. It’s pure vaudeville, of course — extending from a tradition that traces back to “The Arkansas Traveler” and the minstrel show — but rendered with such deadpan earnestness that it creates its own interzone of doubt and indeterminacy: Is he serious? Is he kidding? Maybe both, or neither.
That’s a delicate balancing act. The key is to never let the audience see you wink, and it’s the rare artist who can pull it off consistently. Randy Newman used to own this patch of real estate, back in the 70s — Tom Waits, too; but Newman’s satire has grown blunter with the years, and Waits’s songs have opened up emotionally. David Byrne can still manage it, on occasion, mining the common ground between yearning and absurdity with nerdy intensity.
