Two nights to go on the tour, and then they could take a deep breath. It hasn’t been the easiest trip, touring behind a politically charged album (Jerusalem) in the politically charged environment that is Dubya’s America. For Steve Earle, there are certain, ahem, challenges beyond that of the usual road woes. Not the least of which was the occasional overly strident heckler who felt compelled to editorialize from the audience during that “treasonous” Earle song about the Taliban.

Hell, the way I see it, Earle clearly knew what sticks he was rubbing together when he recorded the haunting “John Walker’s Blues.” But the call for Earle’s head aside, it—and all of Jerusalem—is suffused in the sort of deep sadness that only those artists who feel life so much that it hurts are able to convey. By balancing an empathetic lyrical outlook with musical arrangements that rank among his edgiest since 1988’s Copperhead Road (Stones, Byrds and Creedence come down from the mountain), Earle’s crafted a post-9/11 album that, over time, will soar high, untethered to our collective national sadness.

Of course, having made a huge artistic leap doesn’t count for much when you’re driving through the biggest blizzard the Northeast had seen in years. Earle and his Dukes—drummer Will Rigby, bassist Kelly Looney, guitarist Eric “Roscoe” Ambel, along with auxiliary players Patrick and Justin Earle (who add percussion and keyboards at certain points while pulling double duty as roadies)—additionally had to contend with Earle’s deathly cold/flu. Earlier in the week, he was forced to walk offstage after just half a song; the next evening’s gig was cancelled and the remainder of the tour was spent on a strict diet of vitamins, steroids, herbal tea and throat lozenges.

After a solid opening set by fiery singer/songwriter Garrison Starr’s band, the Dukes hit the stage of Asheville's Orange Peel club with a sense of purpose. (Not that any glove needed to be thrown down; flanking the stage were pylons bearing bright red signs that read “No War With Iraq.”) They promptly opened with a four-song brace of Jerusalem material: the irresistible Stonesy twanger “Amerika v. 6.0,” the Tex-Mex-flavored garage rocker “What’s A Simple Man To Do?” apocalyptic album opener “Ashes To Ashes” (by song’s end, Earle was howling his death’s-head lyrics—so much for taking care of his throat) and the loping “Conspiracy Theory,” which featured Starr handling the spooky female vocal portions.

Earle served up “John Walker’s Blues” much later in the set, although by that point the sold-out crowd was eating sufficiently out of his hand as to make any potential heckling a non-issue. Other high points included the Byrdsian “Jerusalem” and the rollicking, New Orleans-style boogie “Go Amanda”; one of the best tunes from 1997’s El Corazon, the brutal, anti-racism roots-rocker “Taneytown”; the spangly, Beatlesque “Transcendental Blues”; Earle’s semi-official theme songs “Copperhead Road” and “Guitar Town”; and even a spunky cover of the Chambers Brothers’ “Time Has Come Today,” which Earle and Sheryl Crow resurrected a few years ago for the Abbie Hoffman biopic, Steal This Movie.

Throughout, the Dukes performed like champs. Looney pulled off some estimable low-slung, low-end moves and looked more like a punk-rock bassist than a guy from one of America’s premier roots-rock combos. Former dB’s timekeeper Rigby has become the epitome of a drummer who’s got that swing so perfect to keep the Dukes’ motor running. Ambel, who rarely showboats but can deliver licks that’ll shave your sideburns in the space of a four-bar break, is simply at the top of his game. And yes, Earle’s voice progressively deteriorated during the course of the two-hour show, but he never dropped the baton. He simply pushed himself all the harder when his throat croaked, creaked and strained for notes that weren’t gonna be there.

He also found time (and throat) to editorialize toward the end of the evening. Coming out for the encore, as a rambling, extended intro to El Corazon’s “Christmas In Washington”—that’s the song on which he sings about how we need Woody Guthrie now more than ever—he talked a bit about some of his personal heroes (including Guthrie and Abbie Hoffman). After Earle performed that song acoustically, the Dukes returned and he proceeded to comment on the looming war, noting that he and his band would probably be in Europe about the time the Iraq invasion starts if Bush’s projected timetable holds firm. He also pointed out that no matter what your stance on the war might be, it’s not something that should be reduced to simplistic black-and-white dimensions—and how it’s important to remember that the soldiers who are being shipped overseas are real flesh-and-blood people, not rifle-toting abstractions, folks who have wives and kids and parents and friends just like the rest of us.

Then the band eased into the most inspiring, elegiac version of the Youngbloods’ timeless “Get Together” I’ve ever heard. Corny as it may seem, you could look around the room and see cheeks turning shiny from the tears. If that weren’t enough—and just to make sure everyone left with a smile on their face and a spring in their step—the Dukes segued (make that “slammed”) into Nick Lowe’s “(What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace, Love & Understanding,” promptly bringing the house down.

The aging rock critic who was slightly to the right of the stage pogoing madly like he was at a punk/new-wave show circa ‘77 or ‘78? Don’t ask me his name—I’ll never tell.

—Fred Mills