You get the feeling that you’ll never have less than 100% of her attention. A new event had just been added: a conversation with Alicia Keys.īut when Carlile showed up, she was at ease, unrushed, and curious - the kind of person who leans in like what she’s about to say is a secret just between us. Later that day, she was scheduled to play something called the Gaylywed Game with her wife, Catherine, squaring off against Glennon Doyle and her wife, Abby Wambach. It’s also a big ask.Ĭarlile and I chatted in the midst of a whirlwind book tour - before we spoke, she had just wrapped up events with Dolly Parton and memoirist Tara Westover. It is a vulnerable act, hoping that someone’s music will house you and make room for you, no matter how broken you feel.

I thought about the people who show up to hear her music specifically, asking for someone - or some thing - to make space for them. I thought about the young woman on the steps of the Ryman as Carlile turned on her Zoom camera earlier this month to talk with me about her music, career, and new book, Broken Horses. All the comfort I had to offer that evening was the question: “What is it about Brandi’s music that gives you that feeling?” She did not treat the question rhetorically, and offered, “She just knows how to make space for you, no matter the shape you’re in.” It’s an urgent pull to a place where you are not just understood, but seen whole. “But you came all the way from Canada for this, so you know what it’s like to need to see her.” I told her I’d never seen Carlile live and asked if she’d ever been to a show. I awkwardly and apologetically explained to the woman that I had just one ticket and I’d flown all the way from Toronto for the show, otherwise I’d let her have it. Outside the venue, fans milled about and shared stories of how far they’d traveled to be a part of this series of performances: There were people from cities like Chicago, Santa Fe, and Austin those who road-tripped with friends or flew in a father who’d never heard Carlile’s music but was there with his teenage daughter two sisters whose mother died two months before and was an avid fan of Carlile. It was January 2020, and the last night of a six-show run for Carlile.

“Brandi Carlile is my whole life,” she said. “Is there someone I can call?” Through the tears, she explained that she had hoped there would be no-shows for tonight’s concert so she could snag a seat. Her face was in her hands, and her shoulders were shaking. On the steps leading up to the front door of Nashville’s Ryman Auditorium, a sacred hall affectionately known as the Mother Church of Country Music, a young woman sat weeping.

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