With an understated, childlike presence, a flower in her hair, Brooke steps onto stage and brings with her a youthful humility.   You, a seasoned folk aficionado in the back of the bar, hardly look up from your drink. The sound of her speaking voice is consistent with her image – small, unobtrusive.  Equally quiet and pixie-like is her ukulele, which she swaps intermittently for a guitar, seemingly oversized on her petite frame.  She introduces herself with a girlish ring.

What happens next is neither formulaic nor predictable.  Brooke’s performance does not rely on foreshadow, nor opposition and irony to convey meaning.  It is neither her timidity nor a noisy deviation that compels you. She takes you inside, gently plucking at your heartstrings with careful and experimental fingers. She uses open chords marked by pulsing rhythms that lift a clear and textured melody line high above the bass.  Her chosen words are sonic as much as they are poetic, as she cleverly illuminates consonants as demarcations and vowels as glue. Her songs are also petite, never aiming for grandiosity or extravagance and ending, at times, too soon for the intrigued ear. Brooke’s performance is an illustrious showing of nuance and craft. .  She sings six songs, three on ukulele and three on guitar and then exits the stage.  You, the folk aficionado at the back of the bar, realize you never once took a sip of your drink.