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It seems like such a phony platitude that
doing things the hard way is the most rewarding. Of course, anyone
with a shred of sense, or anyone who has done something the hard
way can tell you that the spoils are greater, and so is the sense
of accomplishment. But it’d be nice if things came more easily.
For singer-songwriter-rocker Owsley, it’s been a pretty easy
ride. Music came to him naturally through a richly musical family.
Now that’s typical for most talented folks—that the
music comes easy—the hard part is getting folks to listen.
That’s what he’s talking about on his new album, The
Hard Way, even though the Anniston, Alabama native will tell you,
“It’s about a lot of things.”
So is Owsley. As a youngster, he played guitar along to the radio
bands like Wings, KISS, and The Cars, matching licks with his older
brother, Bud. This morphed into writing songs of his own, 4-track
bedroom recording sessions (his penchant for multi-tracking vocals
explains the plethora of big choruses on The Hard Way),
underage bar gigs with cover bands—he’d do anything
to scratch the musical itch.
Eventually he made the pros: his guitar prowess landed him a gig
with funk-pop pioneer Judson Spence with whom Owsley played around
the world and appeared on MTV in Spence's videos. Subsequently,
a pre-fame Ben Folds introduced him to Millard Powers, and the two
would form the legendary power-pop trio The Semantics with Zak Starkey
(their lone album, Powerbill, released only in Japan, is
now hot property). This led to Owsley joining Amy Grant’s
touring band in 1994, a gig he holds today. Playing with Grant enabled
Owsley to create a musical playground/home studio, not to mention
spend time off writing and recording his own music. In 1999, he
released Owsley on Giant Records, garnering raves for the
anthemic power-pop songs (“I’m Alright” was a
minor hit) and a Grammy™ nomination for his engineering efforts.
Owsley next crossed paths with his musical hero, legendary producer
Mutt Lange. Lange, equally enamored with Owsley, hired him to play
guitar and sing the duet, “No One Needs to Know” with
Lange’s wife, Shania Twain live on “The Tonight Show
with Jay Leno”, “Late Night with Conan O’Brien,”
“The Today Show,” “Regis & Kathy Lee”
and “The American Country Music Awards.”
Then came the hard part: Giant fell victim to corporate mergers
and boarded up the windows within a year of Owsley hitting shelves.
Rather than be swept up in the swirling flush, Owsley began writing
and recording another album, The Hard Way.
Again produced and performed almost entirely by Owsley in his
home studio, The Hard Way continues Owsley’s fascination
with perfect pop tunes—big choruses and big words set to lush,
exhilarating arrangements. “I’m a sucker for an anthem,”
says Owsley, explaining how the lead track “Be With You”
is a love song to “God and woman, not just to woman,”
and an expression of a yearning to for spiritual, interpersonal
and terrestrial connections. You can’t help but ache with
him when he sings:
“I wanna know how it feels to believe in something/ride
on the heels of a good thing comin’/run to the one thing I
know is something true…/I wanna live my life like I know the
meaning/deep inside my soul I hear the music screamin’/eyes
wide open so I’m awake and dreaming, too.”
“Undone” and “She’s The One” are
likewise transcendent, explosive examples of songs you sing in the
car or the shower, but also out loud at inopportune times because
you just can’t help it. But Owsley is also a first-rate balladeer,
able to convey as much sorrow in a sad song as he does joy in a
fist-pumping anthem. “Matriarch,” written for Owsley’s
departed grandmother, is a piano ballad in the great AM-radio style
of Carole King and Gerry Goffin, with nods to Todd Rundgren and
Jeff Lynne on the FM side. And like those songwriters, you feel
every word and every note in your blood.
He’s also a startling analyst, able to extract the most
significance from his surroundings and his and others’ situations,
and pair it with vivid detail. For instance, the folksy title track,
where he draws parallels between a gambling addict and his life
in music.
“I hate casinos,” Owsley opines. “They’re
gross, to me. You know, no clocks, drinks for free, pumpin' in oxygen
through the air vents, no windows, call girls, smell of cigarettes.”
Like the losers at the tables, Owsley is begging for a lesson—“Let
me learn the hard way.” He explains, “I guess the message
is I’ll never learn. I keep getting hit in the face, and keep
getting back up to get it again.”
But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. In making The Hard
Way, Owsley has experienced a lesson he skipped by performing side
and session gigs and writing in the wings. He’s learned that
he must be a master of the results. “I guess,” he says,
“in a world of pretenders, I’m a contender. Sorry if
that sounds egotistical; I still have so much to learn, but most
of the people on the radio today probably started playing guitar
last week. And I’ve been doing this and preparing for today
since birth—no kidding. It’s all I ever wanted, to be
a legitimate player, writer, producer, and performer.”
All this… on his terms. He says, “it feels good to
make music again, and for the right reasons. I’m optimistic
about the future but most importantly want to be loyal to the fans
that have stuck by me through thick and thin. This record is really
for them.”
Not that he’s opposed to doing it again, or consigned to
indie life. He’s learned some lessons, but he’d still
take another shot at the spoils. “The final chapter has not
been written. Who knows what will happen? Right now, all that matters
is we’re taking control and doing it our way. The Hard Way.”
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