The OTHER stubble jumpers in Nashville

I buy tickets to see Rachel Yamagata, who I’ve heard tons about but haven’t really listened to. Feeling pretty festive as I get ready for a night on the town, chatting myself up and that sort of thing. I discover a new part of Nashville with funky clubs and restaurants. I arrive at the show an hour earlier—never trust the website. So I head for a walk about and grab a tea at Café Coco.

Everyplace here has live music, so I’m not surprised to hear a band swinging it in some far off back room. The voice sounds intriguing, so I squirrel through this old mansion of a house turned restaurant/café/venue and find an enclosed back porch built onto the house and here are about ten people watching a band. There are three skinny, plain looking boys plucking away on strings, a big black fellow on the drums and a sweet looking girl with a square, blunt haircut and big cowboy boots. Her voice is high and pretty and she’s adorably awkward between songs. The delicacy of her pink ruffled top, which matches the embroidery on her boots, suits her shy giggles and southern drawl.

I take a seat and after the second song, I’m stunned to hear the singer talk about visiting her grandmother this summer, back in Saskatchewan. She delivers a few prairie-isms that stump the audience, talking about borscht and trying to sell her listeners on the appeal of beet soup. Small world.

Rachel Yamagata offers a much different flavor than the cutie on stage at Café Coco. By contrast, Rachel has dark, unkempt hair and bangs that hide her eyes. She is gritty and heartbroken and getting drunk as the show progresses. Between songs, she jokes with the crowd, notably a few in the front who are buying her shooters, which she obediently slams back. Her smile switches off abruptly when she launches into the next angst-filled song and that irresistibly edgy voice takes us into another world. Wonderful!