Americana Music Reviews

 

Randy Sharp
The Connection
With Any Luck Productions


by David Pilot

Must be the year of the songwriter or something. Earlier this year I got a disc from Austin Cunningham in the mail. Ouch. (Word outta Texas these days is he's improving rapidly, and that's good. He did move back home to make his music, and I'll take the credit for that based on my pan of his disc - - facts notwithstanding). Another CD arrived from long-time sideman and aspiring albeit late-blooming writer Billy Ray Reynolds. Solid and impressive. Neither, though, had the credentials Randy Sharp brings to the table with his first solo project, The Connection. You remember Randy from the salad days of country-pop, when Restless Heart with Larry Stewart at the mic took Sharp tunes like "Why Does It Have to Be Wrong Or Right" and "A Tender Lie" to Number One. The man of the hour also collaborated with Exile on hits like "Nobody's Talking" and "Yet," the sort of songs that turned college girls to mush right there in my two-stepping arms on Thursday nights at Billy Bob's Texas. (The dollar beer didn't hurt my righteous cause, either, come to think of it) Of course, there was also the throwaway Number One that Sharp penned for Clay Walker, the atrocious and seemingly ripped-off from the calypso crab in The Little Mermaid "Then What." That track alone gives one pause when a Randy Sharp effort appears in the mailslot. Still, an artist whose work has been laid down by everyone from Marty Robbins and Brother Phelps to Ray Stevens, the Texas Tornadoes, Holly Dunn, Reba, Emmylou, Tanya Tucker, Blood, Sweat and Tears, John Conlee and a bushel of other acts is worth a listen. I won't even mention here that Sharp was president of the National Academy of Songwriters for three years. Why not? Well, because that could be a boon or a curse depending on your point of view. Boils down to that old "go with the flow" versus "be your own man" argument, and we don't have time for all that mess around here today. So let's get on with it and take a gander at The Connection. Maybe we'll learn something.

If first impressions are the litmus test, this debut album's a toe-tapper with a bit of an attitude and some sizzlingly tight musicianship. "I Won't Stand In Line" drops into a seething groove with non-stop session man Ron Manaog's percussion, while Sharp picks a smooth and quick guitar behind his strong and airy tenor vocal on a track he penned in 1994. It's a kiss-off track with a backup harmony reminiscent of the Jordanaires (you got your wish on this one, Randy), and packs just enough venom that it attracted the aforementioned Ms. McEntire's attention and warranted inclusion on her '94 release Read My Mind. Sharp's take loses the theatrical style Reba thrives on, subtly maintaining the strength of delivery in a sincere and understated fashion.

The theme and sound change abruptly with the next efforts in Sharp's attempt to connect with us, as evidenced by "Some Walls," a tune recorded by Brother Phelps and currently on the set lists for the touring Peter, Paul and Mary. Boy howdy there's a contradiction in styles for ya, eh? Truth? This is the sort of old chestnut (1991) Larry Stewart and the reunited Restless Heart are bound to be recording as they make the lunge for fast-escaping relevance. Don't let that fool you, though; if you like a good lyric and a melodic string arrangement with your white wine and pescadores, this was written for you. The title track offers more of the same, though the melody is far more subdued and relies heavily on a beautifully arranged two-step between a cowboy guitar and a beautifully trained and soulfully poignant voice. The first showstopper on the disc, worthy of title track status, with a lyric coming full circle as the small town girl makes good:

And the interstate rolls on beyond the horizon
Where miles tend to turn into days
And it runally runs into the high road
That winds through the city that took you away

Then it reaches a sidewalk that kisses a wall
And the wall rises up to the 33rd floor
And the floor feels you step to the balcony rail
From the rail you look out on the interstate

Sung from the perspective of a chair on the porch back home, the story of a lost love that hasn't faded for one party winds a charming path through the steps of the journey that took the woman away from the man and his guitar. Reminiscent of "The Grand Tour," but original in the way a good songwriter simply must be able to summon from the great musical beyond.

Other styles abound here, from the Orbison-influenced "Pretending" to the metro-country sound of "New Way Out," a cut that sounds a lot like the Oak Ridge Boys. Maybe that's why they decided to record it when they heard back in 1980. There's even a touch of Western swing (just a touch, mind you - - just a touch) on "Or So the Heart Remembers," and a smidgen of get down and boogie pseudo-disco funk groove on "Good Thing," a track Randy co-wrote with daughter and producer Maia Sharp.

Obviously, Sharp is not a one-note novelty act. It's almost like taking a walk through the Country Music Hall of Fame when you listen to this disc. Partly because Sharp contributed directly to so many of the sounds we've heard from Nashville over the years, and partly because the sheer technical mastery of the craft on display is astonishing. Say one thing for Nashville, no matter what some of us may think of the hat acts and boob jobs, the session players and production values in that town have rarely faltered. On one hand that's a reason for Tim McGraw to praise God Almighty for Pro Tools, but on the other it's at the very least a sign of some level of commitment to the music. With The Connection, Randy Sharp seems to glean the finer harvest from the chaff of his decades in Music City, and the heartfelt love for his effort is clearly on display. In a way, the record plays to jaded ears as a sort of paean to what could have been if the labels would've left the songwriters to their efforts and allowed them in the booths over the years. I for one am certain we'd all be listening to a better product on mainstream radio if that had been the case. The proof is in songs like the aurally stimulating and visually stunning "Dreams of the San Joaquin." A haunting and muted keyboard blends to Spanish guitars and a near-priestly chant as accompaniment for a lyric that evokes the souls of artists from Tom Russell to Townes van Zandt:

I'm sending you some money ­ I wish it could be more
But it's harder than I thought to find the work I came here for

This place is just as pretty as I pictured it to be
But a man in need of work's an all too common sight to see

Each morning as the trucks roll in a lucky few climb on
And the rest of us are left to wonder where the dream has gone

In turns Western, European, Spanish and ultimately American, the instrumentation and the tale it tells are emblematic of the lives and histories of each of us who now randomly squander and treasure the legacy Geronimo and his ancestors left in the land the white man took. As the chorus crescendos and a harmony vocal (Louis Ortega) singing in Spanish that recalls Ray Charles' efforts on "Seven Spanish Angels" offers a beautiful counterpoint, it seems clear Randy Sharp has a handle on the things that make us uniquely who we are in these United States - - for better and for worse.

In parts, The Connection is a jigsaw puzzle of compelling and fiercely independent works. As a whole, it's a cross-genre journey with the potential to be transcendent when the mood is just right and the sun is setting over the Sierras. How you take it depends largely, I suppose, on how much time you have to spend along the way. Randy's online right now at www.randysharp.ws. Go read his personal take on each of the tracks he's brought to fruition with this debut release, and feel free to get yourself a copy.

Contact David Pilot at: tailgunner-at-rockzilla.net

 
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