Though Newman's own memories of his days at Metric are regrettably vague, it remains, in retrospect, an important formative period for his songwriting. Beyond heightening his sense of self-awareness (and occasionally destructive self-criticism) as a writer, his historically lax attitudes toward recording may also have evolved as a deliberate reaction against the Metric mindset and the daily pressure to churn out hits for other artists. In a positive light, Newman's experiences in these early years may have perversely helped shape his self-discipline.
Certainly, it was his limited autonomy at Metric that pushed Randy to write more for himself than for other artists (or his publishers) -- and eventually recognize that his own voice was best-suited to sing his own material. Though the maturation of his writing at Metric is gradually audible from the start, it is only once Newman freed himself from the burden of writing for others that his songwriting took an enormous leap forward, into the realm of "Davy The Fat Boy." He remains a human writer, capable of turning out merely "workmanlike product" at times when his inspiration sags. But even when he's not "on", Newman's songs typically show an unusually high degree of thought and craft behind them.
An interesting contrast in writing attitudes can be seen when comparing another song- writer who began performing about the time Newman began writing for Metric, Bob Dylan. As documented over umpteen bootlegs (most significantly, 1985's 10-album set Ten Of Swords on Tarantula), Dylan was an extraordinarily prolific writer, particularly in his first decade; though only one year younger, Newman spent much of his first decade struggling to find his musical voice. Yet once committed to his personal vision, Newman has been reliably consistant in terms of album quality -- despite some wavering in the 1980's, it seems unlikely he would allow a Self-Portrait to appear (ironically, this applies in a literal sense, Land of Dreams songs excepted).
Dylan's risks have been far more visible over the years: he has released many more albums, influenced a far greater audience, weathered more criticism, and taken more risks than Newman as an artist -- historically, his position among rock's legends is unquestioned. Yet even with his meagre album output, Newman has blazed his own distinct trail: his influence can be seen from songwriters on the outskirts of the alternative scene (the Wolfgang Press' cover of "Mama Told Me Not To Come") to such pop superstars as Paul Simon. It is a measure of both Dylan's and Newman's idealism that though comfortable enough financially at this point in their careers to potentially coast on their past accomplishments, Dylan and Newman remain risk takers artistically: Dylan's recent albums and MTV Unplugged performance reveal a newfound energy (even humor) in his work, while ongoing road tours of Newman's Faust seem as certain to cause conservative uproar as break new ground in musical theatre.
The writing styles of the two artists also provide a vivid contrast: from the mile-a-minute spiel of "Subterranean Homesick Blues" to the decipher-what-you-will lyrics of "Leopard Skin Pill-Box Hat", Dylan has deliberately blown apart pop conventions: any need for Moon-in-June rhyme schemes, conventional verse structures, and consistent meters was thrown out with the notion that songs should have a clear meaning.
Newman approaches pop from another angle: subverting songs from within. It is his deliberate use of the simplest words and Moon-in-June rhyme schemes that makes his narrator's intentions suspect, simply because they're too easily understood -- begging the question: what isn't the listener being told here? (Could the emphatic chorus "It's so hard/Living Without You" really be endorsing separation as a cure for impotence?)
Newman's art relies on subtly exploiting the tendency of educated adults to seek greater meaning from essentially straightforward prose -- and his sense of craft ensures that his lyrics hold up under closer scrutiny. Communication at the simplest level has always been the primary goal of Newman's writing; rarely do his lyrics venture beyond two-syllable words. It is based on the listener's expectations then, whether a Newman song is to be enjoyed on a purely musical level, with surface attention paid to the lyrics (cf: "Short People"), or thought over more attentively (cf: "Sail Away"). However interpreted, it's as unlikely that any two listeners will come away with the same response to a Newman song as their agreeing on the meaning of a Dylan song.