Sharon Little: Songstress

Because I'd missed a train and my feet were tired. Because I was taking photos of a changeable sky. Because I sat down on a bench and I never sit down. Because she said something about my camera. Because I chose to answer even though I wasn't in an answering mood.

That's how it started.

She had a suitcase with her and a hard-cased guitar. She had fine, blue eyes and a sweep of something sweet across her face, smoke on her breath, on her voice. I knew she was a singer. I just didn't know what kind.

She said one thing. I said another. She laughed, and I heard and saw in the way she laughed a person going somewhere. A woman breaking through.

How it turned out is this: She's a real singer. The sort who has been writing songs since she was 15, whose debut CBS Records album—"Perfect Time for a Breakdown"— comes out next week, who is on tour right now with Alison Krauss and Robert Plant, whose name is sitting so perfectly there, in this week's issue of Rolling Stone Magazine—she pulled it from her suitcase, she showed me, she laughed, I laughed too, like I'd known her forever, like I'd been waiting 13 years, with her, for this. And you know how you just crave authenticity, how something draws you to it, how it breaks your heart and heals your heart when you happen on it? Sharon Little is authentic. Sharon Little is wide inside the time of her life; she is living songed-up, souled.

So that I wished (I never wish) that the train ride took a little longer. That we could talk a little longer.

I came home. Walked between the spits of rain. Opened my front door, turned on this box, plugged myself into her virtual portal, www.sharonlittle.com. Listened to her sing.

Take a train. Look for her. Go to Madison Square Garden, go to the Mann. Turn on the radio.

Buy her album.