Music: Clear As Folk

Listening to one of Tom Brosseau’s sparse and evocative story/songs from his upcoming album Grand Forks, you can almost hear the crackle of a steel needle grinding its way through a dinner plate-sized 78, as the North Dakota native transports you to a time when Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger were changing the face of Folk music. And yet Brosseau still manages to inject enough contemporary vision and verve into his songs to earn comparisons to the likes of Jeff Buckley, which doesn’t seem to bother him too much.

“I don’t mind it and it’s an honor when people compare me to Jeff Buckley. I think they should compare me more to Tim Buckley,” says Brosseau from his tour stop at CMJ in New York. “I never listened to them. I like it when I get compared to people from the old days. I think that’s where I’m coming from. The high, lonesome sound is true to what I do. I get a lot of Jeff Buckley, and I get a lot of Karen Dalton, too, and I’m glad for that. It’s either guys with girlie voices or women that I get compared to, never to guys like Greg Brown or Leo Kottke or that guy from the Crash Test Dummies.”

Brosseau’s self-deprecating charm extends to his reticence toward being labeled a songwriter.

“I wouldn’t call myself a songwriter,” says Brosseau wryly. “I don’t know structure or theory, I’m not accomplished when it comes to arrangement or anything. For me, I identify my process as sort of combining stories and melodies. I know some might call that songwriting.”

Brosseau’s musical education began at the feet of his father and grandfather in Grand Forks, N.D., in the late ’70s and early ’80s, listening to Guy Lombardo, Les Paul and Mary Ford and The Ink Spots.

“I have to tell you, I didn’t like any of this music growing up,” says Brosseau. “I was forced to listen to it, but I ended up really growing attached to it.”

It was Brosseau’s elementary school exposure to Folk music that gave him a sound he could identify with more readily.

“We would sing from one of those standard elementary school books, and we learned a lot of Folk songs like ‘Guantanamera’ and ‘Scarborough Fair,” recalls Brosseau. “We also sang songs that were written about North Dakota and the landscape, like ‘Amber Waves of Grain’ and songs about the cold winters; true Folk songs. I think that was the first music that I really was able to attach myself to. I was driven toward the stories of the songs in Folk music.”

Before Brosseau wrote songs, he tried his creative hand at simple prose. His father helped run the annual Writer’s Conference at the University of North Dakota and he took his kids to the symposium every year, exposing them to a wide variety of authors and writing styles. It wasn’t long before Brosseau figured out the connective tissue between the stories he was writing and the music he was hearing.

“I think how I first began writing songs was by writing,” says Brosseau. “Since everybody in the family played music, I just combined the two.”

Around 11, Brosseau picked up his dad’s old Sears mail-order guitar and began working out chords. It was a tough play; the bridge was lifting and unnaturally high and it was difficult to press the strings to the neck to get a clear sound. The hard work paid off.

High school talent shows gave way to college open mics, and Brosseau honed his sound and performance technique. After graduation, he traveled the country extensively, wintering in Utah where he worked in administrative capacities for the Sundance Film Festival. Five years ago, he moved to San Diego with a girlfriend and began playing regularly at Java Joe’s, a celebrated hot spot for singer/songwriters. It was there that he was discovered by former Rugburns bassist Gregory Page, a local luminary.

With Page at the board, Brosseau has released a handful of albums and demos, some of which were recently compiled on Empty Houses Are Lonely on Fat Cat Records. Last year, Brosseau signed with Loveless Records, who released his first album for a proper label, What I Mean to Say is Goodbye, and who then reissued his eponymous self-released debut earlier this year.

With Grand Forks, which is slated for a late January release, Brosseau has maintained his high, lonesome sound but expanded his writing perspective on a song-cycle about the devastating flood that inundated his hometown in 1997. In fact, the album’s release date coincides with the 10th anniversary of the disaster.

“I’ve really been able to relate to the flood on a lot of different levels recently,” says Brosseau. “I’ve been reading all of Steinbeck’s books. I’d never read Grapes of Wrath; it’s a great book. I like how Steinbeck writes about how everybody’s in the same boat and everybody welcomes everybody and their families become one family. That’s exactly what happened in Grand Forks.”

Grand Forks, like the bulk of his work, is made up of Brosseau’s tremulously impassioned voice, guitar and modern Folk songs, but this one has some added star power in the form of X bassist/singer John Doe and superb Classical violinist Hilary Hahn. Doe co-produced Grand Forks with old friend Page and sings on a couple of tracks while Hahn does her exquisite part on a pair of tracks, “Fork in the Road” and “Blue Part of the Windshield.”

One of the traits Brosseau shares with his cross-generational Folk/Country brethren is the ability to tell a simple and moving story within a song and then to tell the same kinds of stories between songs. Brosseau feels a particular kinship to that timeless tradition.

“It’s such a great relief to the music sometimes when you get a good story,” says Brosseau. “It’s so important. It’s important for you to connect but it’s also important for an audience to connect with you. It’s such a great thing if you’re able to do it, if you have that skill, that showmanship, to be personable at least once or twice in between songs. I don’t know what I like better, listening to Ramblin’ Jack Elliott talk about the things that he’s done, or hear his renditions of ‘The Cuckoo’ or ‘Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright.’ It’s a toss-up.”

Listening to one of Tom Brosseau’s sparse and evocative story/songs from his upcoming album Grand Forks, you can almost hear the crackle of a steel needle grinding its way through a dinner plate-sized 78, as the North Dakota native transports you to a time when Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger were changing the face of Folk music. And yet Brosseau still manages to inject enough contemporary vision and verve into his songs to earn comparisons to the likes of Jeff Buckley, which doesn’t seem to bother him too much.

“I don’t mind it and it’s an honor when people compare me to Jeff Buckley. I think they should compare me more to Tim Buckley,” says Brosseau from his tour stop at CMJ in New York. “I never listened to them. I like it when I get compared to people from the old days. I think that’s where I’m coming from. The high, lonesome sound is true to what I do. I get a lot of Jeff Buckley, and I get a lot of Karen Dalton, too, and I’m glad for that. It’s either guys with girlie voices or women that I get compared to, never to guys like Greg Brown or Leo Kottke or that guy from the Crash Test Dummies.”

Brosseau’s self-deprecating charm extends to his reticence toward being labeled a songwriter.

“I wouldn’t call myself a songwriter,” says Brosseau wryly. “I don’t know structure or theory, I’m not accomplished when it comes to arrangement or anything. For me, I identify my process as sort of combining stories and melodies. I know some might call that songwriting.”

Brosseau’s musical education began at the feet of his father and grandfather in Grand Forks, N.D., in the late ’70s and early ’80s, listening to Guy Lombardo, Les Paul and Mary Ford and The Ink Spots.

“I have to tell you, I didn’t like any of this music growing up,” says Brosseau. “I was forced to listen to it, but I ended up really growing attached to it.”

It was Brosseau’s elementary school exposure to Folk music that gave him a sound he could identify with more readily.

“We would sing from one of those standard elementary school books, and we learned a lot of Folk songs like ‘Guantanamera’ and ‘Scarborough Fair,” recalls Brosseau. “We also sang songs that were written about North Dakota and the landscape, like ‘Amber Waves of Grain’ and songs about the cold winters; true Folk songs. I think that was the first music that I really was able to attach myself to. I was driven toward the stories of the songs in Folk music.”

Before Brosseau wrote songs, he tried his creative hand at simple prose. His father helped run the annual Writer’s Conference at the University of North Dakota and he took his kids to the symposium every year, exposing them to a wide variety of authors and writing styles. It wasn’t long before Brosseau figured out the connective tissue between the stories he was writing and the music he was hearing.

“I think how I first began writing songs was by writing,” says Brosseau. “Since everybody in the family played music, I just combined the two.”

Around 11, Brosseau picked up his dad’s old Sears mail-order guitar and began working out chords. It was a tough play; the bridge was lifting and unnaturally high and it was difficult to press the strings to the neck to get a clear sound. The hard work paid off.

High school talent shows gave way to college open mics, and Brosseau honed his sound and performance technique. After graduation, he traveled the country extensively, wintering in Utah where he worked in administrative capacities for the Sundance Film Festival. Five years ago, he moved to San Diego with a girlfriend and began playing regularly at Java Joe’s, a celebrated hot spot for singer/songwriters. It was there that he was discovered by former Rugburns bassist Gregory Page, a local luminary.

With Page at the board, Brosseau has released a handful of albums and demos, some of which were recently compiled on Empty Houses Are Lonely on Fat Cat Records. Last year, Brosseau signed with Loveless Records, who released his first album for a proper label, What I Mean to Say is Goodbye, and who then reissued his eponymous self-released debut earlier this year.

With Grand Forks, which is slated for a late January release, Brosseau has maintained his high, lonesome sound but expanded his writing perspective on a song-cycle about the devastating flood that inundated his hometown in 1997. In fact, the album’s release date coincides with the 10th anniversary of the disaster.

“I’ve really been able to relate to the flood on a lot of different levels recently,” says Brosseau. “I’ve been reading all of Steinbeck’s books. I’d never read Grapes of Wrath; it’s a great book. I like how Steinbeck writes about how everybody’s in the same boat and everybody welcomes everybody and their families become one family. That’s exactly what happened in Grand Forks.”

Grand Forks, like the bulk of his work, is made up of Brosseau’s tremulously impassioned voice, guitar and modern Folk songs, but this one has some added star power in the form of X bassist/singer John Doe and superb Classical violinist Hilary Hahn. Doe co-produced Grand Forks with old friend Page and sings on a couple of tracks while Hahn does her exquisite part on a pair of tracks, “Fork in the Road” and “Blue Part of the Windshield.”

One of the traits Brosseau shares with his cross-generational Folk/Country brethren is the ability to tell a simple and moving story within a song and then to tell the same kinds of stories between songs. Brosseau feels a particular kinship to that timeless tradition.

“It’s such a great relief to the music sometimes when you get a good story,” says Brosseau. “It’s so important. It’s important for you to connect but it’s also important for an audience to connect with you. It’s such a great thing if you’re able to do it, if you have that skill, that showmanship, to be personable at least once or twice in between songs. I don’t know what I like better, listening to Ramblin’ Jack Elliott talk about the things that he’s done, or hear his renditions of ‘The Cuckoo’ or ‘Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright.’ It’s a toss-up.”

This article appears in Nov 8-14, 2006.