When reviewing a show, I get to the venue pretty much right at doors'-open. This usually leads to about an hour of wallflowering whilst the crowd gathers and the opener sets up. Last night, while milling around the front room of Mississippi Studios, I was pleasantly surprised to be approached by headliner Tom Brosseau. Let it be known that my usual conversations with musicians are nonconsensual and generally kerplunk to an end with a star-struck gaffe. Mr. Brosseau is tall and lanky, so after bonding about our shared and abnormal heights, we chatted a bit about the Midwest. Brosseau's from Grand Forks, North Dakota, my home state of Minnesota's neighbor to the north. We talked hockey, the cold, and the 1991 World Champion Twins. As children, we'd both stayed up late to watch game seven.
He ended up buying me and photographer Josh each a beer. I wasn't surprised at Tom Brosseau's pleasantness. First of all, he's from the Midwest. We're all like that. What's more, though, are his slow and thoughtful lyrics. In its preview of Thursday's concert, the Portland Mercury observed that "there's something about Brosseau that brings out the 80-year-old grandmother in all of us." Though I agree that Brosseau's charming, this characterization works as a backdoor insult by implying his pretty folk music goes down as easily as so much Metamucil. The Mercury only recognized the tips of Brosseau's fabulous icebergs. At Mississippi Studios, Brosseau exhibited his fine depths as a songwriter and musician.
The evening started with folksinger Shelley Short and guitarist Alexis Gideon. Mississippi Studio's small stage, seated crowd, and impeccable sound provided the perfect space for Short's intimate songs about anxiety and infatuation. In her first song, Ms. Short declared, "Since I met you I'm afraid of dying." The rest of the set was similarly earnest as the duo produced a pleasing Western sound through a combination of Short's lilting vocals, simple acoustic picking, and Mr. Gideon's glass guitar slide.
Tom Brosseau began his set with Ernest Tubb's 1941 hit "Walking the Floor Over You," a cover choice that gives some credence to The Mercury's depiction. He moved on from there to "Favourite Colour Blue" from his 2009 release, Posthumous Success. On "Favourite Color Blue," Brosseau sang calmly about bleeding without care for someone. This may read like melodrama, but Brosseau pulls it off through controlled lyrics and finger picking. Next Brosseau sang "Here Comes the Water Now" from 2007's Grand Forks. Despite a few slips in the guitar intro, the song displayed Brosseau's quirky and loud-when-he-wants-to-be voice.
Shelley Short and Ethan Rose (Portland producer of Posthumous Success) joined Brosseau onstage for the second half of the show. Brosseau played electric guitar on "Drumroll," accompanied by Short on maracas and Rose on keyboard. "Drumroll's" punchy cadence reminded me most of Stephen Malkmus, a compliment to the song's lyrical timing and strong chorus.
"Been True," my favorite song off of Posthumous Success, opened with Brosseau and Short singing wordless harmonies, and eventually joined by Rose's ethereal keyboard. In a beautiful version of this sad song, Brosseau sang about that grey place in love between caring about someone and self-neglect. "Haven't I been true to you," Brosseau sang, "I hide my eyes. I read between the lines. I see what you want me to." Grandma'd say get out now. Tom Brosseau reminds us we're human.
Brosseau followed with another cover, "Innocent When You Dream," a Tom Waits song characteristic of the man's masterful poetics. The evening closed with an encore of Brosseau and Short singing duets. The two shared a microphone and closed on "Corina, Corina," a song of longing and questioning after a lost girl. Give Tom Brosseau an ear next time he rolls into your town and hear for yourself the seismic activity rumbling beneath his still surface.
