Robert Randolph & The Family Band: Lickety Split
Since bursting into public consciousness, sacred steel prodigy Robert Randolph has straddled the worlds of the holy and the profane. On the jam band circuit, the flashy performer has ignited festivals with his note-bending steel play, making them swell, quiver and thrash under his slide. Yet, at his core, Randolph comes from the church, and that gospel truth can never be washed away.
“Born Again,” the second track on Lickety Split, has the velocity of a Sunday morning church choir in full glory, his sister Lenesha in full-bore wail. Then, as if there’s no more to be had, Randolph make his steel curl and buzz with equal speed on the ride out. By transcending the expected, the New Jersey-born firebrand caught the attention of the non-believer—and his kineticism continues throwing sparks.
But that’s also the challenge. To lure and engage secular audiences, there are elements that seem grafted—often awkwardly—onto the songs. “New Orleans”—with its easy groove and bits of B-3 organ wafting through as a woman’s voice rises from the molasses-sweet melody—hits a wall with the half-sung, almost-rapped male juxtaposition part that lands like a drunk uncle. Regardless of hip hop’s hybridization of genres, why bust what doesn’t need it?
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