The 50 Smartest People in Houston

Fifty of the smartest people in Houston are waiting for Toby Lightman to take the stage for her 11 p.m. show at Warehouse Live (813 St. Emanuel, 713-225-5483). Smart because we’ve all made it out to see Lightman, the blond pixie with the big, big voice (well, okay, 49 of the smartest people in Houston and me). On tour to support her sophomore album Bird on a Wire, Lightman is sharing the bill with Needtobreathe and Sons of William. Both other bands have already played; they’re pulling their equipment off the stage, prepping for Lightman’s set. Off in the corner, someone’s set up a folding table and clip-on lamp as a makeshift music store. The Studio, one of two performance halls at Warehouse Live, has room for about 500, but it’s just the 50 of us. We won’t even make a good front row for Lightman.

Besides being smart enough to be here, the crowd seems to have very little else in common. There are amorous young couples, intricately entangled in each other, lounging on the few benches that are scattered throughout the room. There are a few soccer moms, momentarily sans kids and endless to-do lists, but still wearing their sensible shoes. A businessman, his tie loosened and a drink in his hand, stands next to a post-punk chic chick, while nearby a surfer dude in tattered shorts and flip-flops is sharing jokes with a tall jock, tattoos peeking out from the sleeves of his well-worn hoodie.

Five minutes before 11 p.m., a door opens in the corner, and out walks Lightman. At five feet flat, she’s tiny. Breakable, even. She’s wearing a short-sleeved top, tight jeans (which I estimate to be around size negative 2) and black slippers. She picks up an acoustic guitar that’s almost as big as her and starts strumming. A tall, skinny guy has followed her on stage. He picks up another acoustic guitar and looks at her expectantly as she counts off her first tune.

Lightman starts with a mid-tempo rock song that shows off both her guitar-playing skills and her husky voice. It’s just Lightman and her partner on stage, just 20 fingers, 12 strings and two microphones, but they sound like a five-piece band. She’s bathed in a pink spotlight, making her glow like an overly healthy nymph.

“You know when you’re in a relationship and the two of you have a song?” Lightman asks the crowd. We all murmur yes. “Well this is a song that I wrote about that song,” she says as she launches into “My Sweet Song.”

“Please don’t sing to me / Cause it hurts me to hear the melody that was / good to me before / oh, my sweet, sweet song, you don’t sound so sweet no more.”

“Sweet Song” is typical of Lightman’s writing, smart but not overly serious, playful but not frivolous.

Lightman is about halfway through her set when songstress disaster strikes and she breaks a guitar string. She manages to finish the song, but the broken string (it’s more of a wire, actually) is flopping around threatening, if not to poke out her eye, to at least get seriously tangled in her long curls.

Lightman picks up another guitar while her partner runs backstage to fix the broken string. She talks to the crowd while she checks her tuning. “You guys move up, I like to sing to people, move closer.” We all simultaneously lunge forward. ‘Whoa!’ she laughs, as we crowd around her. We huddle around the center of the stage, just in front of Lightman, 50 smart, happy fans. It might not be a big crowd, but it is a great show.

“I just want to say thank you to you all for coming out. I’m glad you’re here…”

“We’re glad you’re here!” shouts the surfer dude.

“Here’s something you might like,” she smiles as she begins “Front Row,” a tune about overly familiar fans.

“But you don’t know where I’m from / Where I belong / All you know is my name / And you only know what you see/And that really isn’t me / But I’m glad that you came…”

A little while later, the Sons of William, Joe Stark on bass and Dave Stark on drums, join Lightman on stage for a couple of songs. The four-piece group is still decidedly Lightman’s, and her vocals are never in any danger of being overpowered by the additional sound.

It’s easy to dismiss Lightman as just another girl-power rocker, a Sheryl Crow copycat with longer hair, a Carrie Bradshaw look-alike with a guitar (there is a definite physical resemblance), but that’s too simple a summary of Lightman’s talents. Yes, she does lots of strumming on her guitar. Yes, she sings lots of heartfelt, storyteller indie tunes. But her throaty voice slides smoothly from growls to whispers with no apparent effort. And despite her size, Lightman belts out song after song, singing full out without losing the necessary nuances or dynamics. Unlike other singer-songwriters of the pretty female persuasion, Lightman is completely focused on her music, never going for the easy, “I’m pretty, isn’t that enough?” school of performance. If there are any Carrie characteristics in there, she’s doing a really good job of keeping them under wraps, although I think there might be some of the playful sensuality lurking just beneath Lightman’s impassioned rock girl persona.

After the show, Lightman comes out to sign autographs and take pictures. I’m next in line, camera in hand. Standing this close to her, I notice she looks taller. I glance down at her feet. Her slippers are gone and she’s wearing pink high heels, high high heels. I smile. I knew there was a little Carrie Bradshaw in there somewhere. For more info about Toby Lightman, visit www.tobylightman.com online.