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Toby Lightman
Little Things (Lava Records)
by Craig Cook

It’s May 19th 2004. I’m traveling on the LIRR from Penn Station to Farmingdale, LI for a triple bill of great pop performers; Akiva, Toby Lightman, & Josh Kelly. On my lap is the 12” Powerbook that my life revolves around. In my ear, the iPod is tuned to Little Things, the freshman release from Lava newcomer Toby Lightman. Staring out the window with a sleepy melancholy usually reserved for Sunday morning hangover recovery, I’m transported to a world of sorted relationships and strong individualism.


Struggling to find words, typing and erasing, jotting notes, this track reminds me of underground R&B sensation Res, this track makes me want to go back to Spain, this track makes me miss my ex. There are so many comparasions, and I tell myself that im listening to an album with a host of influences too numerous to count. It's intelligently broad, ranging from the downtempo rock of "Frightened" to the exotic flamenco stylings of "Devils and Angels." Boy am I glad summer is on it's way. I want to stroll thru Central Park and listen to this on Saturdays. Or steer a drum circle with the djembe bounce from "Running Away."


When I reach my destination, I walk the three blocks from the train station to The Downtown. I have already missed Akiva’s set due to NYC traffic. I know that I can only shoot the first two songs of Toby’s set, and I get inside just as she hits her first note. Face to face for the first time, with camera slung over my neck, I begin to capture images of the woman whose voice has followed my every move for the past few weeks.

I have high expectations for the 26-year-old singer songwriter, having received her album advance from Lava a few months ago. Produced by Peter Zizzo (Vanessa Carlton, Avril Lavigne), the album has a unique cohesiveness, yet each cut lives within its own microcosm, a Baskin-Robbins assortment of pop, rock, R&B and world influences. I was surprised however to find Toby onstage with little more than guitar accompaniment.

Her freshman release for the NY label was flush with weighty pop production. What really stood out from the first listen though, was one part cigar smoke, one part drizzled honey; a voice that sizzles in the midrange while daring you to betray at the risk of being ostracized from its beauty.


A mature, weathered voice that I expected to come out of a woman twice her age and size. The diminutive Lightman, dwarfed by the bare stage, held her own. It was at this point that I realized that Toby need not hide behind the flash and dazzle of modern production. I was reminded of the great folk heroes of my childhood; Joan Baez, Carly Simon, Carol King, Melanie, solo onstage with a captivated audience riveted to their seats or clutching overpriced fruit based beverages.

It’s 1:30am. I have been invited by Josh Kelly to spend some time on the tour bus parked illegally behind the club. Inside the fully loaded coach, I find Toby sitting at the dinner table, sipping a cup of something (water I assume, thought the Jack is surely flowing). I casually introduce myself, get past the usual formalities (nice to meet you, great show, spoke to so and so at the label, yadda yadda…) and then comment that I have been critically listening to her album for a few weeks, and I’m having trouble writing a review because it touches on something that is hard to describe with words alone. We’re both a little embarrassed by the statement. Shyly she thanks me and instead of going into a dissertation on what the album means or why she wrote what, she goes back to


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sipping her water (I think) and I swallow my pride with a shot of Jack Daniels. I make my way around the rest of the bus, engaging in small talk with the gaggle of gals fawning over Akiva and Kelly. As I gather my things to go, I shoot Toby a smile, and send my best wishes thru karmic non-communication, to overwhelmed (and probably drunk) to say anything more.