A Little Brandi in My Coffee

A week and a half ago, Nick and I FINALLY had the chance to see Brandi Carlile in concert here in San Diego. Each time she's come through, Nick has been gone. He's either been deployed or out of town for work, and as tempted as I've been to see her without him, it just wouldn't be fair. Her music has meant so much to us, together, that it's a very shared experience.

Brandi has had some national exposure, but as she seems to have no tolerance for recording proper studio albums or doing the normal press-junket kinds of shows, she's remained known mostly to us rabid underground fans. Her last album, The Story, was produced by T-Bone Burnett. For her newest album, she went back to recording bare-bones in a small studio, acoustic, with a cellist and her two guitar players Tim and Phil (identical twins). It was adorable to hear her talk about the new album - she was saying that they got "creative" on it, and did a few "overdubs" where they record a second take on top of the first. This is how I like my music. It should sound just as good if not better in person, when there are just voices and instruments and microphones.

Here's a video of her performing at Anthology on June 5 (our show), taken by a fellow audience-member. It's called "Dying Day," a song from her new album. I wish the video-taker had included her preface to the song, in which she explained that they wanted to go totally unplugged to show the audience how they recorded this last album: three guys and a girl in a teeny studio without any mikes or amps. In the theater, no one clapped, no one stomped, no one breathed (well, except that one lady who screams halfway through) - you really could have heard a pin drop. I think we were all in awe and covered in goosebumps (if you turn the volume up, turn it back down for the last three seconds or you will blow out your speakers with the sound of the crowd yelling and clapping).



Anthology was a really cool venue, very intimate without a bad seat in the house. It's one of those places you'd think you'd only find in Chicago, with a club-restaurant format that includes high-end gourmet food (think mache salad with baby french goat cheese souffles for an app, fennel pollen-dusted ahi tuna or blackberry-morrel mushroom reduction over petite filet with purple potato gratinee for entree, etc). We were there on the 2nd anniversary of their opening, and it seems they're doing brisk business in this bad economy. Turns out, people want to see their favorite artists in a cozy venue with good food. Shrug. Who knew? (someone, apparently)

I think one of the reasons Nick and I are so in love (yes, in LOVE) with Brandi is because her songs have really become a soundtrack for our lives. Had that song been out during Nick's deployments, it would have been THE deployment song. Her voice, amazing. Her falsetto transitions, inspiring. But those lyrics, the haunting melancholy lyrics that reek of humanity and real emotion. That's what I connect to. I've always had this weird ability to hear a song once, twice, three times, and unintentionally memorize the lyrics. I mean, I hear the tune, I could hum the melody, but it's always been the lyrics to which I really connect.

I first heard Brandi on a local radio station (woot woot, KPRI 102.1!) a few years ago, and went on Amazon that night and bought both of her albums. Since then, her music has been a part of my life.

When I was snowshoeing in Tahoe this January, I got a lot of enjoyment out of listening to my mp3 player whilst on the empty backslopes and trails. I had some serious communing-with-nature time. There were a few songs that would come on my mp3 player that would make me really stop, look around, and enjoy the beauty around me. Johnny Cash, for one. And Brandi. This song in particular I would play over and over (I love the "repeat" function!). Every time I hear it, it is indelibly linked with that experience of crunching through the snow with no other sounds, no other people, and nothing but inspiring wilderness surrounding me.



That performance, by the way, was last weekend (one week after we saw her).

My most profound experience, though, was probably (definitely) right after Nick and I boarded our flight home to San Diego after my grandfather's funeral in Feb '08. We were one of the first to board on Southwest and still had a lot of time before everyone was finished boarding and seated and the plane was prepared for takeoff. I was feeling at peace with Pa Harry's funeral, at peace with being home and seeing everyone ... but I couldn't help but feel like an awful distant child who moves across the country and isn't there for her family. I felt it all: my cousins growing up, my parents aging, my little brother going through college, my older brother starting his family, my beloved grandfather passing away. I felt like every time I got to say hello, I had to turn and say goodbye, and I missed so much between each visit. So yeah, I was grappling with a lot of guilt. And as we were sitting in our seats, waiting for everyone else to board, I turned on my mp3 player and the first song to come on was "Downpour." Even though one of my coworkers had described this song as "slit your wrist" music (due to its melancholy tune), at that moment I connected it to my feelings of loss, grief, and guilt for leaving my family 2000 miles behind. Well imagine my surprise when, at the show on the 5th, Brandi started talking about this song and how she had written it for her family! A few years ago when she wrote the song, she was scheduled to miss her parents' 25th anniversary and she was so devastated that she wrote them this song instead to explain the guilt of always being gone from them. She explained that when she told them "hey, this song's for you," they didn't really get it ... but she ended up with one of my absolute favorite songs.



Lyrics:
I'm like the rain in a downpour
I wash away what you long for
And I wave goodbye with the sun in my eyes
I wish I could be there tonight

I'm like the wind in the canyon
I'm there when I'm gone in a second
You're growing older in peace where you're at
I wish I could be there for that
But I've moved on
Like a rolling stone
In a crowded room
I'm alone

I'm like the rain in a downpour...

You're like the tide in the deep blue
Cause you're always there when I need you
And when you need someone to carry you through
I'm gonna be there for you
I'm gonna be there for you

And in one of those weird "hey, we're the same age" moments, Brandi took to singing her cover of Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah" to end each show on her last tour. I happened to hear her version of it on the radio one day, and I ended up with tears in my eyes. This song holds particular significance for me, not because of anything personal I've experienced, but because I think it always spoke to me in the same way it spoke to her. The song was originally written by Leonard Cohen, and there have been as many different arrangements of it as I've had haircolors over the years (that is to say A LOT, for those not familiar with the red-blonde rainbow that has encircled my head for the last decade). But Jeff Buckley's version I first heard on My So-Called Life, a show that effectively mirrored if not the actual events of my own life at the time, then certainly the emotions that I (and every other angsty high school girl) dealt with. It was a Christmas show, where the main character met a homeless girl her own age and dealt with those feelings of "who am I to live the life I do?" and all of the eye-opening feelings one has when they realize the scope of human suffering and love outside of their own suburban bubble for the first time. The song "Hallelujah" resonated with me because of its plaintive cries to feel a connection to the world in the midst of feeling connected to nothing. How does a girl of privilege, whose biggest issues were getting good grades while flirting with that guy, identify with a girl her age who worries about eating and not freezing? How, at that age, do you reconcile being born lucky when you begin to realize that you could have been just as UNlucky? That one episode gave me clarity on what I, upper-middle-class suburban girl, had felt inside but didn't know how to express. And it was all in that one song.

I had heard Brandi explain why she started singing that song as her show closer, and I thought I would put it here, for those interested.


But here's her, singing Jeff Buckley's version of Hallelujah. (not the best performance I've ever heard, but due to copyright enforcement, the selection out there is VERY limited):


So, yeah, this gal plays the soundtrack of my life. Nick and I were so excited to hear that her new album was coming out ... and so disappointed that it won't be out in time for our cross-country road trip move to Ohio. Brandi is THE BEST road trip music (Paul Simon's Graceland, I'm sorry, but you've been bumped). I swear, I have a story that connects my life to almost every song she sings, but I'll spare you. Anyway, check her out and if she's in your town you should go see her. You won't be disappointed.