Allette attempts to wish me into the cornfield.
Story & Photo by Pete Brooks
What a way to start the new year.
I’ve always stuck with the policy, “I’ve never met a folk singer I didn’t like.” That is, until I met Allette Brooks.
I got her CD in the mail, and wasn’t really planning on covering it — too Ani Difranco for my taste, way too “coffeehouse.” But her pierced lip piqued my interest, her PR lady’s persistence wore down my resolve and the promise of a sit-down interview clinched the deal.
As usual, I totally botched the interview.
The only thing I did right at all was, taking my cue from a lyric on her new, self-published CD (“Silicon Valley Rebel”), something about greasy food making her sick, I suggested we meet at Papa Jon’s in the Shore for our chat.
From there on, it was all downhill — with a bullet. Never have an artist’s and a reviewer’s sensibilities been more immediately and completely at odds.
I pulled out my notebook and, demonstrating my genius-level powers of concentration, asked her to spell her last name. She paused, then said uncertainly, “uh — well, I think it’s the same as yours.” Covering deftly, I cheerfully exclaimed, “Well that can’t be — we’ve only just met yet!” But her icy stare told me she was going to be having none of it.
Shortly thereafter, I gave up on the interview altogether and decided to just have fun baiting her and trying to push her buttons. Sometimes I succeeded; sometimes she jumped right in there and had fun back with me.
When our server was describing the peanut butter and jelly sandwich to me, I interrupted him with an angry, “Wait a minute! No dolphins were harmed in the preparation of this (expletive) sandwich, were they?” For the rest of our visit Allette referred to the waiter as “Dolphin Boy,” including when hailing him from across the store.
In spite of that, my heart was heavy with fear when I went to see her perform last week at The Library coffeehouse on Broadway.
Like I said earlier, she’s kind of an anti-glamorous Jewel in the Ani Difranco mode, all skitterish guitar runs over chick poetry about swell left-wing concerns. Like lots of very popular girl singers these days, Allette runs through more octaves per song than Beverly Sills does in a whole season at the Met.
The cold, hard truth is: Reading her lyrics, I’m rather impressed with her poetry — her writing is intelligent, wistful and often thought-provoking — but between the hook-free melodies and the vocal gymnastics, their power is lost on me in the performance.
When she lets her guard down, picks an octave and just sings, she has quite a lovely voice. There are a couple of very pretty, user-friendly songs on her CD (“Bye Now” and “Clothespin”), which when I mentioned them during our lunch, she rolled her eyes and dismissed as obvious choices.
So there you go. If your taste runs to Fiona Apple, Jewel and Ani Difranco, or left-wing feminist folk in general, you will likely give Allette Brooks two very hearty thumbs up!
The quickest way to get her CD is online, where it can be found at www.folkweb.com/allettebrooks. Future local appearances will be noted in the At Club Level calendar listings.
©2000 Gazette Newspapers
