Gregory Alan Isakov is all whispers and moonlight, big skies and distant whippoorwills. Determinedly unassuming and a little shy, there's something endearing about the way he sends a song settling into the cracks of a room. The way his voice, like dust in the air, hangs suspended in stage lights in a slow motion free fall.
Eyes closed, face pointed ever skyward, there's no expectation of raucous applause--just a need to tell a story, that it might find a bruised heart or two. And when he finally ducks into the waiting shadows you're aware suddenly that, apart from breathing, you've barely moved.
His latest offering, This Empty Northern Hemisphere, has been a near nightly companion for me since returning from the Pacific Northwest almost three weeks ago. I was there to catch the end of a certain Miss Carlile's acoustic tour, for which Gregory (and violinist Jeb Bows) had been opening. I walked away on the last night in Portland, Oregon with a signed copy of Hemisphere having refused to accept the change he owed me for the cd. I placed the $5 back into its metal box which sat next to a plain brown briefcase with a bold sticker emblazened across the top; it read: God Bless Johnny Cash.
I fell in love with Les Miserables as a 17 year old study abroad student in London. I remember sitting wide-eyed that mid-July night, mesmerized by the sound coming off that West End stage--the way it bounced off the ceiling right above the peanut gallery where our little group of American teenagers was sitting. The original cast recording is one of the first things I bought when I came home, and eight years later it still brings me great joy.
And so, when a woman named Susan Boyle wooed the internet earlier this month with a performance of "I Dreamed A Dream" from Les Mis, I felt compelled to listen. To say it is deeply moving is putting it very plainly. The song by itself is heartbreaking; put it in the hands of someone with a voice and you suddenly can't move. Two minutes in there is a key change that I swear to God is 30 seconds of some of the most glorious music you will ever hear. And in watching the various videos floating around youtube, I came across a clip I hadn't seen in years--of a very pretty girl in a monstrous blonde wig playing the part of Fantine in the Tenth Anniversary Concert (the dream cast as it was billed).
The pretty girl, I have since learned, is West End theatre royalty. Her name is Ruthie Henshall and she is 5 feet 3 inches of veritable wonder.
The voice that comes out of that woman is not altogether of this world, I'm convinced of that. She herself will tell you she truly believes her voice is God sent, and even the skeptic in me has to think she might be onto something, given her very limited formal training. It's all Ruthie, baby! And if the video above hasn't yet made you a believer, I present to you Rhae's List of Ruthie Henshall Performances She Absolutely Cannot Stop Watching:
Maybe This Time
Send In The Clowns
All That Jazz
Anything You Can Do
Plus the 200+ other videos on youtube, but I digress.
In researching Ruthie what surprised me the most is how downright charming and self-depricating she is. From what little I gather based on the few interviews I've heard and read, she's instantly likeable--just terribly lovely and delightfully British (I could listen to her talk for days). If you go to her myspace page and look at the photos, you'll find that 3/4 of them are pictures with fans, and in every single one she looks pleased as punch that people like her enough to wait for her beside a stage door. Now, I work in theater as a stagehand so I know something about the attitudes, hissy fits and general drama you sometimes see from actors--this bubble of superiority that pops up out of nowhere. That someone of Ruthie's stature doesn't come with all of that mess makes her twice as endearing in my eyes.
So I have to thank Susan Boyle, not only for her remarkable performance, but for being the reason I now know there's a Ruthie Henshall in the world. Britain's got talent indeed.
I had to do a double take when I saw The Killers' new album cover last week. I wish they had commissioned me to paint it since the technique is one of the few I can pull off really well. If anyone needs some awesome cover art and wants to look like they're copying The Killers, I'm available is all I'm saying.
No one writes a sad song quite like a native son of Seattle, or even a transplant like Eddie Vedder. It's all that rain--the way it gets in your eyes, keeping the mountains from view.
I'm not sure what's more fascinating about Australian singer Lenka--just how mind-blowingly catchy her single "The Show" is or the fact that she looks like Jack Nicholson and Diane Lane's love child.
If you ever find yourself walking through Central Park on a warm autumn day while the sun spills through leaves that are destined to fall, promise me you'll listen to Kenny White and turn your face to the sky.
He is equal parts Elvis Costello and Shawn Mullins, and the combination is something so reassuring you could lie down next to it and find a friend.
My indie-loving sister just introduced me to this commercial which I have managed to never lay eyes on before now. It features Cat Power covering one of the coolest songs of all time--David Bowie's "Space Oddity." Have a listen.
While you're at it, check out the original.
Cat Power has an EP coming out soon, though I haven't been able to find a release date yet. I'm really, really hoping this cover will be included.
Gregory Alan Isakov is all whispers and moonlight, big skies and distant whippoorwills. Determinedly unassuming and a little shy, there's something endearing about the way he sends a song settling into the cracks of a room. The way his voice, like dust in the air, hangs suspended in stage lights in a slow motion free fall.
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