Independent singer-songwriter Brooke Hall has built her songwriting around the moments that often go unnoticed but leave a lasting mark. Her latest single, The Ride, blends vivid storytelling, nostalgia, and heartfelt reflection into a journey inspired by young love and the roads that shape our lives. We caught up with Brooke to discuss the stories behind The Ride, the power of shared experiences, and finding meaning in life’s quieter moments.
How do you decide which of those quiet, personal experiences feel big enough to become a song?
I think life is wrapped up in small, quiet moments and personal experiences—that’s really what life is about. Most people remember the little moments more than the big ones, even if they don’t always realize it. Those are the moments I hold onto, cherish, and try to bottle up into songs.
Whether I’m happy or sad, songwriting has always been a form of therapy for me. If someone else connects to a song and finds a piece of themselves in it, that’s a bonus. For me, it’s the emotional truth behind a moment that makes it worth writing about.
“The Ride” is built around nostalgia, youth, and fleeting connection. When you write about moments like that, are you trying to preserve a memory as it was, or understand it differently now?
A little of both. “The Ride” is a true story inspired by my parents’ journey—from their first date to more than forty years together and all the miles in between. Growing up, I heard those stories over and over, and I wanted to preserve that journey while also reminding people to enjoy the ride of life themselves.
I hope the song takes my parents, and anyone listening, down memory lane while also encouraging them to appreciate where they are today. I want to preserve the feeling of those memories because emotions tend to stay vivid long after the details fade. At the same time, revisiting some of those details can spark memories and emotions of our own.
Your first open mic performance in 2012 marked a turning point from writing privately to sharing your songs publicly. What changed emotionally for you when those private notebook ideas suddenly had an audience?
It was both terrifying and freeing. When songs live in a notebook, they’re completely yours. The moment you share them, they take on a life of their own.
What surprised me most was discovering that people connected with experiences I thought were uniquely mine. Hearing someone say, “I’ve felt that too,” made me realize songwriting isn’t just self-expression—it’s a way of connecting with other people through shared emotions and experiences. That’s when I truly understood the power of music.
A lot of your songs focus on timing and connection rather than big dramatic events. Do you think you’re more interested in the spaces between things—what’s almost said or almost happened?
Absolutely. I’ve always been fascinated by the moments that don’t make headlines in our lives but end up shaping us anyway.
Sometimes what’s left unsaid carries more weight than what’s spoken. The missed opportunities, the near connections, the conversations that could have gone differently—those spaces are where so much emotion lives. That’s often where I find the heart of a song. The quiet moments between the major events are usually the ones that stay with us the longest.
You’ve moved between Louisville, Kentucky, and Southern Indiana while building your songwriting voice. Do those places still actively shape the way you write, or have they become more of a memory backdrop?
They still shape the way I write every day. The landscapes, the people, the small-town culture, and even the pace of life in this region are part of who I am.
Even when I’m not writing directly about a specific place, those influences find their way into the characters, imagery, and stories I tell. Louisville and Southern Indiana have given me a strong sense of identity, and that naturally shows up in my music. Those places aren’t just a backdrop—they’re part of the foundation of my songwriting.
“The Ride” has this sense of movement and forward momentum, even in its nostalgia. When you were writing it, did it feel more like looking back on something or reliving it in real time?
It felt more like reliving it. While I was writing, I wasn’t sitting back and analyzing the stories my parents had told me or the memories I experienced growing up. I felt like I was right there in those moments with them.
I could picture the country roads they described, the cars they drove, and the places that became part of their story. The emotions felt alive, as if they were happening in real time. Looking back naturally became part of the song, but the writing process itself felt more like stepping into a memory than observing it from a distance