As I set about writing a review for Plimsoul-turned folk troubadour Peter Case's latest, my mind rushed back over two decades to a time when a young Boneman was something of a wanderlust-struck Bohemian himself. Peter Case is almost more of a concept than a person for me. Since turning his back on Rock and Roll success with the Plimsouls (forever immortalized by their performance of the romantic Rickenbacher- anthem "A Million Miles Away," in Nicholas Cage's breakthrough teen classic Valley Girl) he wandered away to traverse the country in search of the crumbling remains of the American Dream.

As a solo act he's managed to remain one of the most prolific and valid chroniclers of the weedy, beer bottle festooned underbelly of an America that lies well beneath the radar of television and top 40 radio. Just the sound of his plaintive voice recalls a time for me when the world was defined by Dierdre O'Donahue's nightly pulse reading on the very coolest from the musical underworld on KCRW, and my weekly run up to Santa Monica to McCabe's to sit in a folding chair in intimate proximity to the many heroes that I never would have become acquainted with were not it for KCRW (still the best NPR station on the planet.)

McCabe's was a young aspiring songwriter's Mecca, a list of the acts I've seen ply their trade on that humble stage is truly staggering. It was a place where even music's biggest acts came to test "acoustic versions" of songs still in their infancy. In the interest of not wandering any further afield, I'll mention only one special evening when Peter was headlining with Victoria Williams (who was his wife at the time). About three quarters through their set they invited to the stage a skinny, nearly emaciated pre-prison Steve Earle who was sitting in crowd. It was obviously a time when Steve was getting most of his nutrients through his arm or up his nose. Steve has never been a svelte man, sometimes ballooning up to rotund proportions, but that night he might have been a buck twenty five wearing his biker chains. What a testament to human resilience and God's mercy to have him rebound from three years of prison to deliver, what - six or seven straight critically beloved records?

In any case the two men have always acknowledged each other as their respective favorite songwriters and I'd be hard pressed to name two artists more blessed with that rare gift of being able to weave compelling stories into soulful, tuneful songs that rhyme on a dime. The highlight of the night found Peter on piano and Steve and Victoria on guitar as she set her "beyond" singular larynx to Earle's haunting ballad "My Old Friend the Blues." I find myself thinking about that night often.

I seem to always be playing catch-up ball with Peter, I'll go a stretch all caught up in that whole "life" thing and then somehow it will come to my attention that he's got a new record out and BAM I jump back in with both feet. The one-two punch of Flying Saucer Blues and Full Service No Waiting knocked me down and dragged me in especially the latter (which should be turned into some sort of songwriting textbook). It appeared for all the world that Peter may have finally ran out of gas on 2002's Beeline (he was dealing with the death of his father at the time, but it's unquestionably his weakest album). Now five years hence, I'm playing catch-up again as Let Us Now Praise Sleepy John finds Peter right back in charge of his A game throwing nothing but strikes in the same Spartan delivery as we enjoyed on Full Service No Waiting. Ever the wistful "don't kill the messenger" Dust Bowl balladeer as can be seen on "Open Road":

"A mysterious figure passes on the sidewalk/In ragged clothes, ‘Father' I say ‘how come?'/ He wears several dirty jackets and a topcoat/My father nods and says ‘son that man's a bum'/I looked again and saw the rapt expression/'neath a floppy hat he tipped back with his thumb/the aura of a world's ragtime adventure/ I said ‘when I grow up I want to be a bum.'"

I'll seek my fortune in the wide world/take my chances in the cold/come what may I'll be okay/ as long as I can find a stretch of open road."

I can offer no better illustration of the path Peter has chosen since slipping out the backdoor of the corporate music world 21 years ago.

In case you're as ignorant about Blues Music as myself, the titular Sleepy John Estes was a classic Delta blues pioneer, best known perhaps for penning the oft-covered "Milk Cow Blues." At this point I have to confess that I came by this album via a credit card purchased download (my very first, if you can believe and my 10 year old daughter walked me through it). As a result I have nothing much to show for it, but a small electrical bundle of nerves on my hard drive. And due to some exhaustive internet research I can tell you that the gentleman singing in duet with Pete are Richard Thompson on "Every 24 Hours," and Carlos Guitarlos on "Underneath the Stars."

If you're a fan of Bob Dylan, Steve Earle, Paul Westerberg – it's never too late to hop a freight and discover this wonderfully unique American artist.