On the cold night of December 30th, 2005, I joined my friend Oliver to see the Five Town Massive art, music and film event at Holley Hall in Bristol, Vermont.

I was there primarily to see the wonderfully weird animation done by Oliver’s brother-in-law, Ethan Clarke (visit his site, mega-beast.com for a taste), but the night took a somewhat surprising turn.

First of all, Holley Hall was turned into a hip gallery space, packed with all sorts of creative folks, young and old, at a far higher density than I would have ever thought. Though I live just over the border in Monkton, I consider Bristol to be my home town. And I couldn’t help feel some pride at seeing all this activity so close to home.

So, I looked at some of the art on the walls, enjoyed a pretty humorous monologue from a poetry jammer, and then…

Anaïs Mitchell took the stage, alone, with her acoustic guitar.

Now, there’s a certain type of earnest folky singer/songwriter style that I really don’t care for very much. The kind of Jewel-esque cute and maudlin variety that used to dominate the Point until fairly recently.

So, I sat prepared to endure the inevitable until the film portion of the evening began.

But, from the first notes she plucked and the first hint of the distinctive timbre of her voice, I was entranced.

A review on her website describes it perfectly — and now as I’m pasting it in, I realize it says exactly what I’ve already said, but better…

Anaïs Mitchell walks on stage with an acoustic guitar and arrant grace evocative of both Sandy Denny and Cyndi Lauper in the same stride. Voices hush and heads turn in unison to catch the self-assured vixen with the bright, childlike smile as she steps forward to place a hand on the mic – and take it back again. In a gesture of coy flirtation and pure poetry, she drops her gaze and lets fingers light on strings instead, breaking open a bittersweet melody. The first syllables escape her mouth, and it isn’t long before you realize: this is no chick folksinger. This is no fly-by indie rock grrl. You are in the presence of an artist. A classic. Like a young Marilyn Monroe captured in the crisp, black-and-white frames of a D.A. Pennebaker concert reel, Anais Mitchell is an artistic legend in the making.

My eyes quite literally began to fill with tears as her performance continued. Not just because her performance was genuinely moving, but because ever since becoming a parent (I now am a father of three), when I’m confronted with such seemingly effortless talent like this — whether in the arts or in sport — from a person more than 10 years younger than I am, I well up with the pride of a parent.

Well, my wife and I have a pretend talent agency, focused on young and upcoming actors and musicians, that we started over a decade ago. (We’ve got a pretty strong track record. You’d be impressed. Really.)

So, right then and there, amidst the peeling paint on the balcony, I won out in a fierce imaginary bidding war, and I signed Ms. Mitchell. Oh yes, I did.

But, clearly, I’m not the only person who recognized her talent.

Casey Rea is reporting in this week’s Seven Days that she’s just signed with Ani DiFranco’s Righteous Babe label.

Rea writes…

So how did Mitchell end up getting signed by one of her musical heroes? Coincidence played a part, but talent proved to be the clincher. Longtime Buffalo promoter/musician Michael Meldrum, whom Mitchell calls “a fairy godfather to young artists,” heard her last album, Hymns for the Exiled, and invited her to play some area gigs. “Turns out he was Ani’s childhood guitar teacher,” Mitchell explains. “Somehow, she happened not to be on tour when I came through Buffalo, and Michael convinced her and her manager to come down to catch my show.” They were suitably impressed.

This Vermonter’s got a great future ahead of her. I just wish I’d signed her for real.