The Historian: Notes on a Thursday

There are few better ways to spend an evening, I think, than in pursuit of a night of music. From the journey there and back again, to the actual concert itself, there is something about the potential of fantastic live music that gets my blood thrumming. Brandi Carlile's June 4th concert in Charlottesville delivered on the promise of my anticipatio ten-fold. This all being said, I feel that there is an addendum in here somewhere--my parents love music and have fostered this love in my sister and I from a young age. Be it the radio, iPods, CDs, DVDs, field concerts, bar concerts, or big stadium concerts, my parents are more than happy to listen to new music. They're the reason I saw Prince in concert before I was even in high school, and have seen Fleetwood Mac, Bruce Springsteen, and U2, and many others. The rush of adrenalin you feel at a concert is the thing, you see. Every great stage performer has their own unique siren call that tempts you, calls you back to climb to perilous heights in the nosebleed setion, so that you may feel the thunderous percussion rattle your chest, the bass line hum against your skin, and the awesome energy that cannot be translated onto a recording, no matter how excellent your Bose speakers may be.

Brandi Carlile and company are a band that I've followed for awhile. My first boyfriend and I saw them when they toured to promote her first major album, "The Story" in 2007. And though the boyfriend was chucked years ago, I can still turn to Brandi Carlile's songs to tap into emotions that I'm unsure of expressing.

The drive from my town to Charlottesville is rustic and very pretty in the early June, late afternoon sun. Hills sloop gently and sunshine filters through a leafy canopy as my mother and I discuss all and sundry. A quick stop to fill up my tank (thanks Mama!) and we arrive. The theater is an old movie theater, with rococo plaster and columns to echo the theater's nutty-for-neoclassical namesake. A quick look at the overpriced bar and standing room only first floor sends us dashing for the stairs to a small balcony--the seats are rapidly being filled. The audience is one of the more eclectic I've seen in quite some time. All races, ages, backgrounds, and genders surround me, talking quietly while settling in with their beer and nachos.

Vienna Teng and Alex Wong, the opening act, were excellent. I've since downloaded a crap-ton of their songs from iTunes. They were funny, played more than they spoke, and above all were talented. I cannot stress enough how amazing and beneficial a good opening act is at concerts. They keep the mood and energy up, as opposed to a bad opener, who leaves the crowd bored, tired, and restless. Though, it is important to give our particular audience major props. We were of rousing good cheer, and I believe a huge part of the night's success.

Brandi Carlile and the rest of the band entered to quiet blackness, with flickering lanterns for ambiance. The stage set-up was simple--cellist to the right, the twins a quiet yet strong mirror image on either side, drums on a platform at the back, and oriental rugs to carpet the floor. After a beautiful a capella version of "Oh Dear," they launched into a energised night with the popular "Looking Out" and toured through her amazing new album and some excellent "old standards." Highlights include "What can I say," from one of her first, self-titled albums, "Dreams," and "Caroline" with Vienna Teng substituting for Elton John.

She performed, "That Year," a song of final acceptance and heartbreaking frustration at the teenage tendency to reject the many shades of grey that make up life. The first time I heard it was live in 2007, when it was newly inked. Though it is just as poignant and powerful it seems less pained, now.

The song's are interspersed with brief explanations of songs, covers, and stories--including a particularly funny one featuring an imitation of her mother, asking her to pick up a song by "that band that does that song" and singing "Sex on Fire." According to Brandi Carlile, this is a song one should never hear their mother sing. Of course, it's one of MY mother's favorites.

And it's impossible to forget the rest of the band--if only because she never does. The twins, Phil and Tim Hanseroth, are clearly instrumental to Brandi Carlile's life (no pun intended), and their songs are credited and well-loved. Alison Miller, her drummer, is an absolute powerhouse on the drums, giving certain songs a drive and rhythmic thunder to the music that's new but epic and appreciated. And the cellist, Josh Neumann, adds a deep tonal cry that makes the music just country enough.

And it IS country music. It's the country of Johnny Cash and the Carter Family, and the old bluesmen that stripped music down to wood, strings, and honesty. The words are confessional poetry that connect solidly in the hearts of its listeners. Emotions like pure joy, heartbreak, muddling confusion and uncertainty roll through the theater like summer stormclouds to an audience that cheers, claps their hands, and stamp their feet until I fear the balcony will collapse around us. Brandi Carlile allows her voice to rise, stress, pull, and yes, perhaps crack in a way that has been sacrificed by so many to the gods of AutoTune and perfection. But this, this is connectivity.

A brief exit, with audience going wild, brings the twins back onstage, all siamese and single guitar, for a cover of "Sounds of Silence" that is eerie, hilarious, and beautiful in its unity. A standing crowd-pleasing, roaring rendition of "Folsom Prison Blues" with a preamble of "Jackson" and a solo Brandi Carlile with "Pride and Joy," a clearly tacked on song to the line-up for a fan who called out for it, and the night is over. Only a warm walk back to the car and a drive through the dark rolling hills remains.