Brandi Carlile @ the Blue Note, Columbia, Mo.

Brandi Carlile at the Blue Note

Brandi Carlile’s spectacular voice, wicked guitar playing, and intimate stage presence on Saturday evening shattered my already high expectation for a smokin' hot performance. 

Following the opening act (Katie Herzig), the tall beauty appeared on the Blue Note stage with at least five guitars within her reach at all times. Brandi engaged the sold-out audience with the warmth of an old friend, reminding the full house that a concert is an experience that requires mutual participation. Opening with “Dreams” off her 2010 album Give Up the Ghost, followed by two additional original numbers, she stunned by stepping to the front of the stage to offer an unplugged version of one of her most beautiful songs. Forgoing microphone or amplification, she delivered a powerful version of “What Can I Say.” With this, Brandi had the crowd in the palm of her hand for the entire evening.

Throughout the show, Brandi weaved together strong material from all three of her studio albums, a few new/unreleased songs, and a handful of cover tunes. A string of storytelling tied each song to the next and built a rapport between artist and audience unmatched by most performers. She told of her lifelong dream of performing at the Grand Ole Opry and the thrill of meeting one of her musical idols, Wanda Jackson there. Before she covered Radiohead’s “Creep” we learned that it was her Mom who suggested she buy the band’s CD. When she shared a new song (“Christmas 1984”), the first time she performed it live, Brandi explained that not all Christmas songs need be joyous. Her message of avoiding the materialism that overtakes the holiday season was exquisitely delivered through the song. 

Brandi belted out her anthem “The Story” as the final song of the set. Hearing her words: All of these lines across my face/Tell you the story of who I am/So many stories of where I've been/And how I got to where I am/But these stories don't mean anything/When you've got no one to tell them to/It's true...I was made for you/, it felt as if she had shared the Story of Brandi Carlile with her new friends in mid-Missouri. The authentic singer/songwriter returned the affection, expressing gratitude and awe for her Columbia audience numerous times. She promised that she would return to the Blue Note to see “one of, if not the best audience” of her tour.

The encore offered a short mini-set, opening with two original ballads. She followed by plucking a lucky young man from the audience who joined her on stage to duet John Prine’s “Angel from Montgomery” with her. The night ended with a rousing rendition of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah,” an oft-covered song seldom performed by female singers. She nailed it. Of course.

Brandi Carlile in Parking Lot Following Concert at Blue Note 

Brandi Carlile sings "The Story" with her band at Austin City Limits, September 2011. Her performance at the Blue Note was a part of her first solo tour.

James Lewis "Jim" Rogers, b. Nov 18, 1976

Jim’s 16th Birthday. No one could of predicted that Jim would become the best driver in the family. Prior to his sixteenth birthday, he had finished off a couple of cars “practice driving” off road. His most dramatic incident involved racing through the pasture in an old Blazer. A low lying tree ripped the roof off making a convertible of this Blazer. With Jim unharmed, the story was added to family lore with a laugh and head shake, and  “oh, only Jimby ... ” crossing all of our minds.

Thirty-five years ago today my family welcomed James Lewis “Jim” Rogers to the world. This was not Mom’s first time around the birthing track--her seventh to be specific--and she walked out of the hospital with her baby cradled in her arms the very next day. Two years earlier, Mom almost died in childbirth and her twin babies went to heaven. On November 18, 1976, God blessed her with a picture perfect delivery and baby boy. She knew her family was complete.

The youngest in a large family is a unique place to live; I know nothing about it and never will. I watched my brother John as the baby for years before Jim arrived. Then, of course, Jim was the baby. I always envied that spot on the ladder though John passed the torch to Jim without thought. 

November 18 will always be Jim’s birthday, always a day to celebrate his life and love. He now has two birthdays: the day he went to Heaven and the day he was born on Earth. 

Jim’s 21st Birthday. No one anticipated their 21st birthday more than Jim. It wasn’t about a bar or a drink but rather our parents' tradition of taking each 21-year-old to Las Vegas. Jim invited me to be his guest on the trip with Mom and Dad. Caesar’s Palace provided our playground for a weekend of debauchery in Jim’s honor. This trip also became part of the family story but the two of us kept certain details of that chapter to ourselves. We owned it and still do.

Genie Banks Rogers

Mom pictured with her older brother
Hartley. Being 13 years older
he tormented my Mom by
taking her dolls and other
antics. As a young man, many
thought he looked like Elvis.

As a Toddler on the Steps of the Family Home

Deep down, Mom will always be a cat person though the dogs in her life have lacked for nothing, especially affection. She is a friend and advocate to each animal she encounters: I'm confident the geese, woodchucks, deer, raccoons, squirrels, and others flock to her place for good reason. 

Mom with Her first Cat (above) and Her Pony

A True 40-Year Love Story: Until Death Do Us Part

President Reagan Visits Columbia

My Dad won Mom's heartstrings when he invited her to see Barry Goldwater for a first date. Other romantic outings included drinks at the Heidelberg, Mizzou football games, and family time. Proof positive, these passions continued through the decades. President Reagan's visit to Columbia in the late 1980s thrilled--look at my mother in this picture. That's anticipation! Loyal Mizzou football fans, they endured the good, the bad, and the ugly from the mid-1960s through 2005.

Fall 2004, Night Game at Faurot Field

Below are the final lines of a manuscript prepared by my siblings in honor of my parent's 40th wedding anniversary, the last they would celebrate together. These words, as appropriate and meaningful today, I share with love and respect.

"Mom and Dad have often said that one of their greatest accomplishments was raising five kids who are each other’s best friends. Mom and Dad can also take pride that all of their children consider Mom and Dad their best friends too. We congratulate you on your 40 years of marriage. You have taught us each what love and family are all about. We thank you for each other, us, and many wonderful memories and experiences."

We love you very much,
Mary, Ann, Hartley, John, and Jim

HAPPY BIRTHDAY 2011

My Take on the "Happy Lamp"

It always sounded too good to be true.

It may be.

It’s large, it’s bright, it can attract attention in the office. People often question me about it, usually on behalf of a spouse, a friend, a parent. Can’t help but think-- “but of course, only others struggle with seasonal depression.”

When asked if the Happy Lamp helps, if it really boosts my mood and emotions when the days grow dark and gloomy, I always respond with this answer:

“I truly think it helps and frankly that is good enough for me.”

I am a Tree Hugger

Oak Tree

On the first day of spring 2011, I transplanted three trees from my brother Jim’s yard. Eight months later and in the heart of fall, the trees are thriving and I believe he is smiling down on them.

(Look here at pictures of the trees when I planted them in March:http://annie-allthingsimportant.blogspot.com/2011/04/trees-and-prayers-for-life.html )

Yesterday I built a mulch bed around each tree to blanket them for the extra cold winter predicted for this year. I started to weep. It’s impossible to convey all the emotion tossing in my skull but it can be summed up in a simple way: I miss him.

Still crying and on impulse rather than thought, I hugged the little tree. I then climbed to the top of the yard and gave Jim’s oak tree and crabapple tree a hug also. Sitting in the bright, blinding sunshine under the little oak tree my weeps turned to sobs, dampening the ground with my tears.

Before going inside, I gave each tree another hug and in process created an alternate yet more literal definition of the term “tree hugger.”

Crabapple Tree (left) and Magnolia Tree (right)

Trick or Treat in 1975

Each year on Halloween my Dad took his kids out to select friends and relatives prior to us terrorizing the neighborhood and hitting up any house with the porch light still burning. When back home, we set up a trading post in the family room. The four of us (Jim would not be born for another year) piled up all our candy, divided it in categories (think gum, chocolate, sweet tarts, suckers, and on), and exchanged our haul in a “what will you give me for this” manner. Everyone knew how I loved bubble gum. I lost a lot of chocolate for that indulgence. We did this every year--a tradition we built for ourselves.

Halloween evening 1975. We started at about 5:30, skipping dinner out of excitement and anticipation of our annual sugar overdose. Dad began the rounds, stopping at the five or six obligatory homes. The last one, due to proximity from my grandmother’s house, was Miss Julie’s. Her old mansion set back far, far from the road with steep steps and a spectacular leaded glass front door didn’t feel haunted but it always felt erie on a dark Halloween evening.

Miss Julie opened the door and as usual invited us in to pick up treat bags on the parlor table. There they sat: four fish bowls with little guppies swimming in circles. Wow, I thought: much better than the expected carmel apples! And shrewd she was--each bowl had three guppies to increase the likelihood that there would be a male and a female in each fish bowl.

The night’s trick or treating that followed lacked the usual allure this year even though it was a Friday night. The guppies had captivated our imaginations and the candy was, well, just candy this year. By the time we arrived back home, Hartley already had baby guppies. The next morning, we all had babies and by school on Monday, we had more than we could count. Show-and-Tell hour could not start soon enough--no one I knew ever received guppies for Halloween.

Unfortunately our excitement dimmed by the day and a sad couple of weeks ensued. Our twenty-pound alley cat Tiger had no use for the new pets. Over a period of a week or two, the fat cat knocked the guppy bowl off of each perch, leaving a soaked carpet and dead guppies. Even Tiger had no desire to eat them. I suppose this was his version of catch and release fishing. My parents appeased the trauma of the murdered guppies by adopting  a single goldfish He swam in an oversized brandy sniffer set on the fireplace mantel, one of the only places Tiger could not roam.

Trick or Treat? I think Miss Julie had Treat or Trick on her mind in 1975, with the later being her prerogative.

Baby Guppies

Tales From A Missouri Chestnut Grove

Twenty years ago a crooked, dying tree caught my mother’s attention. The shape intrigued her as did the unfamiliar green pods with fine sharp needles. Her curiosity drove her to the Missouri Conservation Department where a tree specialist determined that it was an American Chestnut tree--and a rare survivor in the state due to the great Chestnut tree plague that killed over 3 billion trees in the first half of the twentieth century. My parents worked with the department to use the tree’s nut for a grafting project. Their dedication and tedious labor resulted in about 35 nutgrafts; 29 survived. These nutgrafts grew a couple of feet the first year and required some staking to force upright growth but now form a Chestnut grove of trees that are prolific bearers of nuts enjoyed by both humans and wildlife. 

A good Chestnut harvest requires daily wrestles with the squirrel population for just-fallen pods. During the month I wandered through the grove, my eyes peeling the pasture’s floor for the green or velvet tan spiny burrs. Chestnut burrs should be picked up with thick work gloves as the needles will stick in the skin making it almost impossible to gather the burrs barehanded. Ideally the pods brown on the branch and fall to the ground and are gathered before getting squirreled away. If the burr is on the ground, I roll it with my foot to see if i beat the critters. If intact, the pod goes in a bucket, sometimes coming home full, other times just a few burrs. 

Each burr contains three plump Chestnuts, making each one an important find. Toward the end of the harvest, I climbed the trees and shook the upper limbs, catapulting the remaining pods to the ground. The final climb is my favorite part of the harvest season. It releases my inner monkey child and allows my body to succumb to muscle memory from my youth.

Last year we were spoiled by a bumper crop that did not repeat itself this fall (cicadas and the drought paid their toll on many trees and gardens). Even though we can’t sell the surplus to the farmer’s market or give bags to friends this year, my Chestnuts will still be roasting over an open fire this winter. If you see some Chestnuts at the market or successfully talk me out of some of mine, give this a try. The aroma alone will draw your friends and neighbors from blocks away.

Roasted Chestnuts

1. Preheat the oven to 425 degrees.
2. Clean Chestnuts.
3. Use a sharp paring knife to cut an X into one side of each nut. This keeps the Chestnuts from exploding in the oven.
4. Arrange Chestnuts on a baking sheet or in a shallow pan, with the cut or pricked sides up.
5. Roast in oven for 15 to 25 minutes, or until nuts are tender and easy to peel.
6. Peel the nuts when they are cool enough to handle but still warm, and enjoy.

Removing Chestnuts from Burrs

A Day's Work Ready for the Open Fire