Brandi Carlile

Tom Brosseau

Rob Dickinson

Casbah - January 24, 2006

Live Review by Kate Kowsh

On January 24th, The Casbah, San Diego’s downtown punk rock joint with street cred to spare was in a mood it wasn’t accustomed to: pensive and acoustic. It may have been taking it easy, but it wasn’t taking the night off, that’s for sure.

Opening opener Rob Dickinson (of the now defunct Catherine Wheel) had a way of making the acoustic guitar sound angsty. He took over. I didn’t expect much from a performance in a time slot traditionally saved for artists just off the karaoke circuit. But, ooh, child… It wasn't dancin' music, but more of a hypnotizing, hands in your pockets, bobbing back and forth kinda thing. As soon as I caught his voice, I thought of Dave Matthews. On songs like “My Name Is Love,” Dickinson threw the l-word around stage more than any boy band on the run—but, for some reason, it wasn’t campy. After marinating in the vibes he put out, I was looking for his merch booth after the set—and I wasn’t the only one. This dude rocked my sneakers.

Next up was North Dakota native Tom Brosseau. What a humble, likeable guy. Flipping the collar up on his trademark acid-washed Dungaree jacket as soon as he stepped on stage, Brosseau didn’t waste any time. “Hello, I’m a pretty quiet man,” he cooed into the mic, before easing into his set. “It’s hard to know what to play when you’re in a rock club when you’re used to playing libraries.”

I couldn’t help but liken him to a soprano Johnny Cash, although Brosseau is more Americana than country. He must have read my mind, because two minutes after I made that connection, he started into this story about how he met Johnny Cash in an alley in Nashville once, and asked him how he could sound more like him. According to Brosseau, Cash told him to put a piece of paper between his strings. As he was telling this questionable true-life account, he was weaving a piece of paper in-between his guitar strings.

A few songs into his top-notch set, Tom invited his friend and musical mentor, San Diego legend Gregory Page, onstage to play a few songs with him. Page, who had been watching in the wings like a proud teacher, grabbed his guitar and moseyed on up there. The crowd went nuts. All I could think was, “Oh, nowww they perk up.” As Brosseau and Page sang, you could feel the dust bowls kick up and tumbleweeds stumble by. Boy, do those two know how to set a mood. “It’s hard, hard it’s hard to love someone who never will be true,” they harmonized.

Now, I’m gonna be honest here: prior to Tuesday night, I had never even heard of Brandi Carlile. In fact, I kept getting her confused with Belinda Carlisle of the Go-Go’s. But as I was standing in the sea of people, six feet from the stage, listening to how this woman wielded her strong voice, and wrapped it around us all like a comfort blankie in “Follow,” I couldn’t help but be impressed. “The Clock” was one of the best songs I’ve heard since slap bracelets were in.

“We played here before and there were about 40 people here,” she laughed to the packed house. Flanked by her band of boys, Brandi is now a seasoned veteran. She’s had time to get to know her songs. The men in the crowd whistled after the songs, but not in a “sex kitten” kind of way – even though she is beautiful. These were “Wow, woman…I’m in awe of you” whistles. As for me, all I can say is before she went on I thought she was a Go-Go, and since leaving the Casbah, I now have one of those felt triangular flags on a stick and an oversized foam finger proclaiming, “Brandi Carlile Rocks!”