BROWN FURLOW 2025-11-05 at Don’t Tell Mama, NYC
Don’t Tell Mama, a historic cabaret presence haunted nightly by the campy and glamorous is an interesting choice for the Southern innocence of Brown Furlow. I’m sitting towards the back and overhear a woman describe him as Winnie the Pooh. I think, ‘Oh, I can kind of see that. But I’m certainly not going to tell him that, much less put it in his review.’ But the image stayed with me because of his method, the Tao of Brown. His tenderness is welcoming and he’s very cute so it feels safe. Then, when you least expect it, he quietly tears your heart out
Though filled, the room is too quiet. The band, silhouetted against a red scrim, sits keenly ready but oddly still. There is an eerie calm in this chapel vibe contrasting to the club’s historic glitz when I realize, ‘Oh… this crowd is Brown-seasoned. The know exactly where the evening can go emotionally.’ Brown’s superpower is unearthing heartfelt, nearly forgotten songs and framing them with enough honey to swallow until you cry. There’s no human whose heart can resist these universal truths.
I first heard Brown’s other-worldly tenor at the Indian Road Café. From his gentle persona burst a high peal that pleasantly startled the audience, ‘Was that a whale?’ With this range, Brown masters the Inkspots’ That’s When Your Heartaches Begins including Top-and-Bottom voice (when a falsetto lyric is followed by a spoken bass for emphasis). It’s just that he does both voices by himself. The technique lends beautifully in Don McLean’s Vincent which triggered a few ducts. The uncomfortable newcomers at the table in front of me drank heavily to sedate their emotions and unfortunately talked through the tear jerkiest part, “… you took your life as lovers often do.” I commend myself for not flipping their table over. This table gratefully wept during Try to Remember (Tom Jones/Harvey Schmidt) and Tom Waits’ The House Where Nobody Lives: “If there's love in a house, it's a palace for sure.” It takes some courage to see a gifted performer torching.
But Brown is a generous and lighthearted performer! He has natural comic timing and a gift for friendly banter. He dedicated this concert to his mother, Sugar Furlow who would have turned 102 on this very same performance day. He noted her “bullshit detector” when tempted to stray from the truth. I wondered if Sugar’s influence helmed Brown’s gift for elucidating lyrics. Like a town crier he plugs other wonderful performances around town, “See Operation Mincemeat!” and “Don McLean is alive and kicking!” Brown took a moment to share the passing of Mr. Myron Lockett, a beloved performer and dear friend to several audience members from the dearly missed Singers Space at Bar Thalia.
Brown is playful with and appreciative of his expert and dedicated band with David Pearl at the piano (right foot in a cast so he had to left pedal the sustain all night – what???). Pearl’s arrangements enhance Brown’s sentiment and humor. And hooray for Pearl’s hilariously dissonant solo during Bright Lights, Big City (Jimmy & Mary “Mama” Reed). It tickles me to hear a virtuoso get goofy. Jason DiMatteo has a smokey bass sound that is harsh and soft. Always happy to see Jarrett Walser on drums, in charge of perfect tempos and super supportive to every note. Gary Schreiner really keeps the musical conversation going on harmonica and accordion with witty, dreamy phrases.
I highly recommend the Brown Furlow Experience. Listen closely to sense his vision, his discovery of lyrics and their impact. To sell the idea to a tagalong friend, tell them it’s like Winnie the Pooh sharing heart breaking love songs interspersed with comforting reflections, “When life throws you a rainy day, play in the puddles.” (A.A. Milne).
