Mary Broome on Courtney Jaye and Marc Scibilia

Nothing gives me a greater sense of purpose or pleasure than connecting with someone over music. I love my job for a dozen reasons, but the best part is building relationships with bloggers who care about promoting genuinely talented artists.

One such blogger has become a dear friend. Soon after I relocated to Nashville, he introduced me to one of his local favorites via email. Her name is Courtney Jaye.

We intended to meet at Jessie Baylin’s show, but I couldn’t find her in the crowd, so Courtney and I got together for coffee the next weekend. We talked about everything from Hawaii and physical therapy to Mexican food, men and, of course, music. Courtney was an attentive listener with a kind smile. When she invited me to her first show in a year at The Basement, I was all too eager to say, “Yes, of course I’ll be there!”

In the week that followed, I was introduced to another Nashvillain: Young singer/songwriter Marc Scibilia, whose acoustic video for “Ain’t My Home” was recommended to me. I sent Marc a Facebook message congratulating him on a job well done, to which he graciously replied, and, to my delight, invited me to that same Basement stage he would share with Courtney.

Marc has the charm of Bruno Mars, and he sounds like a peculiar combination of Paulo Nutini, Ray Lamontagne and even Johnny Cash. He opened the show and immediately commanded the room, just he and his guitar. With such appealing characteristics and more exposure, he’s sure to be loved outside of Nashville.

Courtney Jaye has already met with success in the industry at large, but she doesn’t flaunt it. While she has earned the right to act like a diva, she’s a down to earth, warm-hearted woman. When she took the stage, I expected to hear what she called, “70s disco era Dolly Parton,” but what I got instead was a southern Stevie Nicks and Harriet Wheeler, lead singer of The Sundays. New songs off her forthcoming record made up the majority of her set, and like the well-traveled singer herself, they were all over the map, boasting elements of classic country, pop, surf rock, and folk. Courtney capped things off with a rocking rendition of “Only Momma That’ll Walk The Line” that would undoubtedly make Linda Ronstadt proud and Dolly toe-tap. Then she hushed the energized crowd and delivered my favorite song of the night. I felt like a blockhead when I asked her what it was called and learned that it wasn’t a cover. It’s a timeless, original tune about a girl wanting to be the wonder of her guy’s world. I can’t imagine Courtney being anything less.

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