monday musings: (brooke fraser)

I went to a concert last week on a Tuesday night.  Usually, I cannot convince myself to go to a concert mid-week because there are other things going on during week nights; I don't want to spend a lot of money in the middle of the week, etc. etc.  But when I heard Brooke Fraser was coming to Milwaukee, there was no way I was missing it.

I saw her once before, in college.  There were six of us crammed into a car and we drove a couple hours to a tiny little bar where Brooke would be.  It was my one and only celebrity sighting--Mandy Moore in case you are wondering--but I didn't recognize her when she asked for my chair.  (I'm not sure how much of a sighting it is when someone else has to point it out, but that is another topic.)

Anyway, I remember that concert because I wasn't really a Brooke follower, but my friends were.  She was a New Zealander singer who was famous in her own country but my friends had discovered and bonded over her music while they were on a study-abroad trip in Mexico.  I was there for the company and a fun Friday night away from campus.  Brooke sat there on her bar stool, unknown to most of the people she was performing for, but there we were, front and center listening intently and laughing at all her quirky personality traits.  She sang a song with the line, "I laugh at my own jokes, and what I deem to be clever wit."  I believe she wrote those lyrics for herself as she told jokes throughout the night that she laughed at.  It was that honesty that drew me in and made me a follower.

This time around, I was way more excited to see Brooke for who she is--an artist.  She's connected with a big music industry since the last time I saw her and gained a small following in the US and I was a little worried that some of the rawness we experienced in that little Los Angeles bar would be exchanged for bright lights and movie screens.  However, I was not disappointed.  She is just as real as she was six years ago.  Marriage and success haven't altered the quirky movements and jokes and deep lyrics of her music.  It was one of those concerts where you realize there are people unnoticed by the mass music industry with extraordinary talent.  How are these rich songs and powerful voice not being played on radio stations?

At the same time, I am glad for it.  Even though she's grown in popularity, I was close enough to the stage to touch her if I wanted.  But I didn't want to.  I connected with her music and her honest, intimate lyrics in ways that are far more valuable than a brag of "I touched her hand!"  And since there weren't crowds of people to fight through I could sit there and let the rhythms and music wash over me.  I laughed at her jokes and stories and it she feels like a friend who I don't get to see everyday.  She is a friend with whom I've shared late-night theological debates and tears over injustice and longings for our future husbands.

I could go on about her, but I think it's more real if you read these lyrics and then buy her music on itunes.  She's worth your time:

I don't know why our words are so proud/ Yet their promise soothing/ And our lives blow about/ Like flags in the wind/ You who mourn will be comforted/ You who hunger will hunger no more/ All the last shall be first/ Of this I am sure/ You who weep now will laugh again/ All you lonely be lonely no more/ Yes, the last will be first/ Of this I am sure/ I don't know why the innocents fall/ While the monsters stand/ I don't know why the little ones thirst/ But I know the last shall be first.  ("Flags")

I see the scars of searches everywhere I go/ From hearts to wars to literature to radio/ There's a question like a shame no one will show/ "What do I live for?"/ We are Hosea's wife/ We are squandering this life/ Using people like ladders and words like knives ("Hosea's Wife")

Cheers to the friendships well worn in/ That time nor distance alter ("Here's To You")

Love, where is your fire?  I've been sitting here smoking away/ Making signals with sticks and odd ends and bits, still there's no sign of a flame/ Impostors have been passing, offering a good-feeling glow/ But I'm holding out for what you are about--an inferno that burns to the bone/ Some urge me to be temperate, lukewarm will never do ("Love, Where is Your Fire?")

It's you that's hidden by the expectations/ We want to see you, won't you show us where to start? ("Betty")

It's my caution not the cold/ There's no other hand that I would rather hold....I could write a million songs about the way you say my name/ I could live a lifetime with you and then do it all again/ And like I can't force the sun to rise or hasten summer's start,/ neither should I rush my way into your heart ("Love Is Waiting")

Am I lost or just less found? On the straight or on the roundabout of the wrong way?/ Is this a soul that stirs in me, is it breaking free, wanting to come alive? ("C.S. Lewis Song")