The man never met a clichdidn't love. When he cries, it's into his beer; when he moves his bottom line, it's further than a country mile; there are rats running in a rat race on the same song where there's a traffic jam on the information superhighway. Anyone who listens to lyrics must scowl disapprovingly at this. And it's disingenuous of Black to complain about getting older. He's only 42 in one of the few musical genres where you're allowed to age, he still looks great in his crinkly-eyed way, he's married to Lisa Hartman for heaven's sake. So the title track's somber meditation on death-"I've many miles behind me/ Maybe not so much ahead"-seems more than a little overstated. Dude, even Merle Haggard doesn't sound that depressed, and have you looked at the bags under those eyes?

But neither of these objections stands a chance in the face of everything else on this record, Black's first on his own label. His protestations aside, he still sounds vital, whether growling about "Everything I Need" or wailing blues on his harmonica for the surprisingly funky "We All Fall Down." And he can still hit the high notes like a country Caruso. So his album ends up being pretty great despite some occasional corniness and Black's unfounded mid-life crisis fears. Maybe even because of those things.

"The man never met a clichdidn't love. When he cries, it's into his beer; when he moves his bottom line, it's further than a country mile; there are rats running in a rat race on the same song where there's a traffic jam on the information superhighway. Anyone who listens to lyrics must scowl disapprovingly at this. And it's disingenuous of Black to complain about getting older. He's only 42 in one of the few musical genres where you're allowed to age, he still looks great in his crinkly-eyed way, he's married to Lisa Hartman for heaven's sake. So the title track's somber meditation on death-""I've many miles behind me/ Maybe not so much ahead""-seems more than a little overstated. Dude, even Merle Haggard doesn't sound that depressed, and have you looked at the bags under those eyes?

But neither of these objections stands a chance in the face of everything else on this record, Black's first on his own label. His protestations aside, he still sounds vital, whether growling about ""Everything I Need"" or wailing blues on his harmonica for the surprisingly funky ""We All Fall Down."" And he can still hit the high notes like a country Caruso. So his album ends up being pretty great despite some occasional corniness and Black's unfounded mid-life crisis fears. Maybe even because of those things.

"