Saturday, May. 30, 2009

Review: Brandi Carlile spins a deeply compelling 'Story'

Review: Brandi Carlile delivers one of the best shows of 2009 at the Granada.

By Preston Jones

pjones@dfw.com

DALLAS -- An old soul forging her way in a merciless, youth-obsessed business, Brandi Carlile understands the need for depth over flash, for heft over hype.

"I think the stories are about as important as the songs," said the Washington state native halfway through her sold-out Granada Theater show Friday night. Carlile, touring ahead of the release of Give Up the Ghost, her third studio album, was relaying a breathless story about meeting one of her musical heroes, Elton John. The capacity crowd, as it did with nearly every word, gesture and spine-tingling note, sat captivated, in reverent near-silence (which, in Dallas, is nothing short of miraculous).

For 90 minutes, the 27-year-old Carlile, armed with only an acoustic guitar, her achingly powerful voice and the mighty Hanseroth twins, Phil and Tim, her co-writers and partners in musical crime, reeled through a number of engaging covers (from the Beatles and Elton John to Radiohead and Tammy Wynette) and showcased the highlights of her T Bone Burnett-produced sophomore effort, The Story.

The purity and ferocity of Carlile's singing pins you to your seat; mesmerizing and frequently jaw-slackening, hers is a gift that rings out, cutting through the pre-packaged clutter and striking you in the soul. One of the evening's numerous highlights was a performance of Dyin' Day, a track from Ghost, where Carlile and the band unplugged the amps and let it rip. It sent chills up the spine, once again reinforcing the simple power of genuine talent flourishing on its own terms.

While Carlile excels at conjuring slightly baroque moods tempered with a folksy laissez faire -- her sterling cover of John's Sixty Years On set the tone beautifully -- her glee at crafting music with her friends became palpable toward the end of her set, when she and her cohorts tore into a pair of Johnny Cash classics, Jackson and Folsom Prison Blues, all but torching the latter with fretboard pyrotechnics.

The cumulative impact was undeniable, as the Granada Theater audience leapt to its feet and roared, dazzled and hungry for more. Carlile, for all of her raw skill, remains relatively unknown; such is the fickle nature of the industry.

Not that she should have to settle for any consolation prizes, but the palpable adoration on display Friday night isn't given to any and everyone who makes a living through music. It's saved for those who can truly move you, reaching down deep to bewilder your senses. Hers was one of the best performances yet seen in 2009.

Opener Gregory Alan Isakov, a Boulder, Colo.-based troubadour, was an ideal appetizer with his forlorn prairie poetry. Rooted in folk but ranging across bluegrass, country and a bit of pop, Isakov's lovely, husky tenor evoked everyone from David Gray to a young Bruce Springsteen; he spun tales of early morning alienation and heartbreak with a slightly anxious, but compelling, air.

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