Pitchfork

After languishing on Curb Records during the '90s, releasing albums that no one paid attention to (including, it sometimes seemed, himself), Merle Haggard signed with the Epitaph subsidiary Anti-. This move afforded the prolific veteran an opportunity to do exactly what made him a legend in the first place: compose excellent, commercially-unconcerned country music. But there's a discernible difference: Merle Haggard has grown into his surname, and it suits him well.

"Watching while some old friends do a line/ Holding back the want to in my own addicted mind" is the lyric that opens If I Could Only Fly, an album strong enough to remind one of Haggard's work in the '60s and '70s. Accompanied by an acoustic guitar, snare brushes, occasional electric pickings and a barely audible organ, Haggard continues, "Wishing it was still the thing even I could do/ Wishing all these old things were new." Its subtle power is enough to make my 23 year-old body somehow feel old and tired.

As strong as the opening track is, a whole album of it would leave me a shriveled heap of flesh and bone. Haggard, of course, realizes this. So he quickly jumps into the Hank Williams-inspired "Honky Tonky Mama," which he delivers in an odd, but engaging, swallowed voice. After the laid back slide guitar of "Turn to Me," the album hits another high point with its title track. Largely just an acoustic guitar, a harmonica and his smooth baritone, Haggard sings, "I feel so good and then I feel so bad/ I wonder what I ought to do." Written here, it reads like the sad, simplistic reflections of an old man. Yet, everything about the song is so beautifully understated as to make one understand, if not sympathize.

But, again, Haggard moves through various subgenres with impressive ease. "Crazy Moon" sounds as if it were written from the shores of Hawaii; "Bareback" is Bob Wills-style country swing; "Proud to Be Your Old Man" is a blues-inflected ragtime number. And through Haggard's consistently subtle approach, the songs flow together with no disruption.

Despite these worthy numbers, the best moments here are when, as on "Wishin' All These Old Things Were New," and "If I Could Only Fly," Haggard sticks closely to his acoustic guitar and alludes to his past. "I'm Still Your Daddy," for instance, opens with the nearly spoken lines, "I knew someday you'd find out about San Quentin." An unsettling harmonica rides through before he resumes: "It's time you knew the truth about your papa/ I've not always been the man I am today." With compelling, confessional honesty, he goes on to address his criminal past, his former youthful naiveté, and to admit his wrongfulness.

The stripped-down "Uncle John" begins with a reference to the death of his father. Then, he informs us how his career began: "Looking back, it all looks like a marathon/ And it started with an E chord I learned from Uncle John." The final number, "Listening to the Wind," is just what you might expect: the description of a man at the latter end of his life, alternately listening to everything around him, and to the concerns in his own mind.

The obvious comparison is to Bob Dylan. Both men, thankfully, still have a message, albeit of a nature quite different from their earlier years. Although Dylan's Time Out of Mind is certainly a greater triumph, If I Could Only Fly shows that perhaps Haggard has more to say, given the upheaval of his youth. In either case, that Dylan and Haggard are still making music is a blessing to the rest of us. Perhaps, in listening to their reflections on aging and the accompanying doubts, we can learn how to face our own mortality with greater equanimity and fewer regrets.