Some musicians launch their careers via American Idol, others do it one MySpace friend at a time—Oregon singer-songwriter Laura Gibson chose a different track. Her first standing gig was a weekly show, on Tuesday nights, at the Portland HIV/AIDS services center Our House.
"I had this idea—maybe it was out of fear of playing live—that I just wanted to play for people who were sick, or bedridden for some reason," she recalls. "I volunteered there for three years. I didn't always play music; sometimes I just washed dishes or went on walks with residents. But that was definitely my first big audience."
Now audiences can see and hear Gibson at more-conventional venues. She plays Thursday, December 7 at the Sunset Tavern, opening for Norfolk & Western, and her debut album, If You Come to Greet Me (on Hush Records), is in stores now. But her unique career kickoff makes sense when examined in the context of her musical evolution.
Gibson waited until she was 20 years old to pick up a guitar: "I didn't sing or play any music at all growing up." She was a track star in high school and college, but when surgery on her ankle sidelined her for months, she decided to use the time to learn to play.
In that choice, too, she took a path less traveled. "I went to one guitar class. It was a crowded room full of people playing just chords, so I decided to just try it on my own," she recalls. Her other big outlet during recuperation was writing—poetry, journals—and eventually the two interests began to intersect. Timidly, she played one of her original songs for a friend in their dorm room. From there, things slowly snowballed.
If You Come to Greet Me retains the intimacy of that collegiate premiere. Much of the album's elegance hinges on how other timbres weave gracefully in and out of the ether, and around Gibson's skeletal guitar picking: A singing saw on "Nightwatch," lap steel and banjo on "Small Town Parade." But the focal point is always her voice, a quiet but riveting presence that recalls Cat Power and Jolie Holland.
Capturing that delicate instrument on tape initially proved tricky. "I would get really tense and bummed out," she says. But then, one day while recording in San Francisco, she decided to do vocals while resting in an oversized recliner. Bingo. She nailed it.
"It probably goes against everything they tell you is the way to get the best vocal take, but I felt really relaxed. So when I finished the record in Portland, I recorded most of the vocals while sitting in a comfortable chair."
Luckily, Gibson is less nervous about sharing her gifts nowadays. "I can be myself in front of people, and not have to put on a fancy show," she concedes. "I do the best I can, but if I tend to be a shy person, then I can be shy onstage. That seems to work out okay."
