The highly unfashionable painting on the cover of this live album from veteran bluesy singer/songwriter Chris Smither comes from his song, "Can't Shake These Blues" (RealAudio excerpt): "I just can't shake these blues/ They like a big black crow flyin' after me/ Tryin' to shake me out my tree." As big, ugly and uncomfortable looking as the black crow that appears on the cover though, Smither is bigger and uglier, standing indifferently in front of the bird with arms folded. The picture is a perfect metaphor for Smither's lyrical preoccupations. The blues are very much a part of his musical heritage and day-to-day existence, yet he refuses to let them overpower him. In the end, he probably won't be able to shake them entirely, but he'll never give up trying.

This is probably why Smither, from the Boston area, comes off tougher than the average folkie. Not so hung up on self-expression but still enormously expressive, the blues for him are an existential dilemma. The first song, "Hold On I" ( RealAudio excerpt), sets the stage: "The only thing that's truly free/ Is this little voice that's tellin' me to hold on." In order to stave off the anomie this couplet engenders, Smither inhabits a universe where the need to communicate becomes a moral imperative. That's why his songs feature so much hard advice, both given (on "Winsome Smile," to a friend who won't move on from a failed relationship) and taken (by Smither himself on "The Devil's Real," a song that may be a metaphor for how he's regained control of his career). And, though it's taken years, "Up on the Lowdown" (RealAudio excerpt) proves that Smither is a good listener.

There's something in the sweep of Smither's nearly 30-year career that makes these songs feel lived-in; more like lessons learned than vague philosophizing. He's released more albums in the last seven years than he did in the first 20 of his career, demonstrating how well he can dance along the edge of the abyss that existential dilemmas (or music-biz injustices) present. You bet it's tuckered him out: He sings like a Dylan too tired to bother with stylistic perversities. But the cumulative effect is of a droning vocal energy that is a testament to keepin' on keepin' on — and when you can play guitar as nimbly and inventively as he can, it's actually a neat counterpoint.

Overall, this live album, recorded over the last few years in performances from California to Virginia to Ireland, is good rather than great. More between-song chatter, like the childhood reverie and Elmore James-like growl that introduces "No Love Today," would have been welcome. And while Smither's Johnny Cash-like chug and audible boot heels transform solo acoustic guitar into lively foot-stompin' music, the format pales in comparison to the smoky band arrangements of last year's fine studio effort, Drive You Home Again. So act accordingly. If you've never heard of him — and if you haven't, you really should — it'll be an ideal introduction. If you're a Smither fan low on cash, you can probably wait 'til the next release. He and the blues will still be there.