Is a dream a lie if it don’t come true? Or is it something more mundane? Truth is, aside from flights of impossible fancy (aka winning the PowerBall), dreams are an elusive—some might say illusive—species that evolve over time and even, on occasion, fall or are pushed to the wayside. It’s the cycle of such things, if you think about it. Many reach for the stars when young but become resigned to touching clouds by the time they reach middle age. Others feel compelled to continue on, arms outstretched to the sky.
Either/or, to quote the philosopher Paul Weller on the follies of fantasy, “The past will take you, keep you from the truth/as bitterness rises from the ashes of your youth.” (Or, to quote the bard Neil Young, “Old ways can be a ball and chain.”) Veteran singer-songwriter Maia Sharp notes as much in her song about retrofitting aged aspirations for newfound realities: “I’m tired of those old dreams/I’m not even dreaming anymore/That was the old me/She didn’t know what she was living for.” Our hopes and goals at age 24, in other words, shouldn’t jibe with our hopes and goals at 34, 44, 54 or 64. They become kindling for resentment, nothing more.
On Reckless Thoughts, which was released in August ’23, she digs into the dichotomy between what she once sought and what she now wants, while reflecting on major moves she’s made in her life. Among those changes: Ending a 25-year marriage and relocating to Nashville from Los Angeles. While her last album, 2021’s Mercy Rising, was written and recorded while the events were unfolding, here she reflects on them from a distance. No, harmony does not echo through the land—but her sober assessment resonates all the same.
The opening track, “She’ll Let Herself Out,” tells of a woman coming to terms with leaving a failing relationship, while “Old Dreams” is a tremendous song. “On a Good Day,” meanwhile, finds Sharp painting the portrait of someone navigating a new life while toting the baggage of their past. It’s a balancing act, to be sure—and on a good day, she’s got no complaints. (Like “She’ll Let Herself Out,” “Old Dreams” and several other songs here, it’s written in the third person, giving the song a literary flair.) “California” is akin to a “Dear John” letter to the state she never thought she’d leave: “You did everything you could and nothing that you shouldn’t have.” (I.e., “It’s not you but me.”)
“Kind,” as is the case with most of the songs here, was written with others—in this case, Dean Fields and Mindy Smith—based on an idea that Sharp had. It celebrates kindness, which is often lacking in today’s divisive culture: “If you got a good heart/That’s a good start/If you want to be a friend of mine/Rich or broke, drink or smoke, to me it’s all Pepsi/Coke/Whatever floats your boat is fine/My kind of people are kind people.” It’s my favorite of the tracks.
“Too Far Now” finds her moving forward because, well, what else is there? “Gone Cryin’,” inspired in part by John Prine’s passing, suggests that it’s okay to be sad; just as kindness is diminished, the same is true to an extent for tears. The stellar “Fallen Angel,” meanwhile, explores self-image, love and more. The album closes with “The Road to Hell and Back,” a celebration of resilience and moving on, of turning pain into the grist of song.
I should mention that the title Reckless Thoughts is a misnomer—there’s nothing thoughtless about these songs. The lyrics are obviously cultivated with care, while the melodies—mostly shades of mid-tempo and slower—are sure to worm their way into your ear. The best songs (“Old Dreams,” “Kind” and “Fallen Angel”) are sublime, while the rest are eminently listenable. To an extent, stylistically it reminds me of the country-tinged singer-songwriter sound of the late ’80s and early ’90s. If you enjoy Kathy Mattea, Mary Chapin Carpenter and Trisha Yearwood, in other words, odds are good you’ll love this.
The track list:
The Old Grey Cat 
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