Before I get started on the much larger task of retroactively chronicling trips 1 to 9 (or at least, the more interesting of trips 1-9), I thought I'd write a brief few words about trip #11: a sneaky one-nighter to London (12-13 September 2011).
Ordinarily, a visit to London wouldn't seem all that noteworthy, simply because it is my most frequent destination, and because my box-standard trip to London involves heading straight to Essex, staying at my parents' place, entertaining the dog, and other general family stuff. Oh, and occasionally meeting up with London friends. Rarely do I venture into central London, and rarer still are any sort of touristy activities.
This trip, however, was not the box-standard family visit (which I always love, I should point out!). The motivation behind this speedy channel crossing was a concert. A Martin Sexton concert, to be precise. Now, you might well have never heard of Martin Sexton, and consequently might wonder why one would go to all that effort -- and expense; Eurostars are not cheap -- for such a concert. The answer, my friends, can likely only come from attending one of his concerts, yourself. It might also not be immediately obvious if blues isn't quite your thing, but I'm certain that anyone with an appreciation for musical talent will be unable to deny that this man is, quite simply, a genius.
The venue was the Borderline near Soho square. I'd roped my entire family into going with me, though none of them had ever heard a Sexton song in their lives. They trusted my judgment, so I'm sure there were a few raised eyebrows and serious doubts when we arrived at the venue. Frankly, though, I would be hard-pressed to pick a better spot for a blues concert, and particularly for my first ever Sexton gig. The place is fairly tiny, located down an alleyway off a pedestrian street, and in a basement. While there is a small seating area, it's largely standing-only, and there's a small stage that I'm not convinced is large enough to hold a complete drum kit.
Sexton's genius is not in his incredible vocal range, nor in his multifaceted voice, yielding more tones than I've yet been able to count, nor in his substantial talents on the guitar, nor in his ability to write songs that uplift, that touch, that get under your skin; songs that reach into your very soul and pull you, inexorably, towards him. These are all incredible assets, no doubt, but no... his brilliance lies in his ability to walk solo onto a stage with one lone microphone, guitar strapped in front of him -- a most unassuming man -- and engage you so completely that you fail to notice that he hasn't even brought with him a band. Not a drum, not a bass guitar, not a backing vocalist. And absolutely none needed.
I've seen some exceptional musicians in my life, but this was one truly stand-out show. As an added bonus, the venue was small, meaning I was probably 10 feet away from the man himself the duration of the gig, and had a raised level that allowed me to see over the heads of the tall people (OK, fine, the tall *and* the medium-sized people).
Before you ask, no, I'm not his publicist, though I'd take the job in a heartbeat if I didn't love my own quite so much. I'm just an enthusiastic fan, one who feels as though she were given an incredible gift by the person who first introduced her to Sexton's music, and one who feels compelled to pass it along.
(p.s. sorry for the absence of pictures; a dark basement doesn't really make for the best of photos, particularly with a dodgy old point-and-shoot. Plus I may have been too busy singing and dancing and generally being a hyperactive toddler to take photos...)
Ordinarily, a visit to London wouldn't seem all that noteworthy, simply because it is my most frequent destination, and because my box-standard trip to London involves heading straight to Essex, staying at my parents' place, entertaining the dog, and other general family stuff. Oh, and occasionally meeting up with London friends. Rarely do I venture into central London, and rarer still are any sort of touristy activities.
This trip, however, was not the box-standard family visit (which I always love, I should point out!). The motivation behind this speedy channel crossing was a concert. A Martin Sexton concert, to be precise. Now, you might well have never heard of Martin Sexton, and consequently might wonder why one would go to all that effort -- and expense; Eurostars are not cheap -- for such a concert. The answer, my friends, can likely only come from attending one of his concerts, yourself. It might also not be immediately obvious if blues isn't quite your thing, but I'm certain that anyone with an appreciation for musical talent will be unable to deny that this man is, quite simply, a genius.
The venue was the Borderline near Soho square. I'd roped my entire family into going with me, though none of them had ever heard a Sexton song in their lives. They trusted my judgment, so I'm sure there were a few raised eyebrows and serious doubts when we arrived at the venue. Frankly, though, I would be hard-pressed to pick a better spot for a blues concert, and particularly for my first ever Sexton gig. The place is fairly tiny, located down an alleyway off a pedestrian street, and in a basement. While there is a small seating area, it's largely standing-only, and there's a small stage that I'm not convinced is large enough to hold a complete drum kit.
Sexton's genius is not in his incredible vocal range, nor in his multifaceted voice, yielding more tones than I've yet been able to count, nor in his substantial talents on the guitar, nor in his ability to write songs that uplift, that touch, that get under your skin; songs that reach into your very soul and pull you, inexorably, towards him. These are all incredible assets, no doubt, but no... his brilliance lies in his ability to walk solo onto a stage with one lone microphone, guitar strapped in front of him -- a most unassuming man -- and engage you so completely that you fail to notice that he hasn't even brought with him a band. Not a drum, not a bass guitar, not a backing vocalist. And absolutely none needed.
I've seen some exceptional musicians in my life, but this was one truly stand-out show. As an added bonus, the venue was small, meaning I was probably 10 feet away from the man himself the duration of the gig, and had a raised level that allowed me to see over the heads of the tall people (OK, fine, the tall *and* the medium-sized people).
Before you ask, no, I'm not his publicist, though I'd take the job in a heartbeat if I didn't love my own quite so much. I'm just an enthusiastic fan, one who feels as though she were given an incredible gift by the person who first introduced her to Sexton's music, and one who feels compelled to pass it along.
(p.s. sorry for the absence of pictures; a dark basement doesn't really make for the best of photos, particularly with a dodgy old point-and-shoot. Plus I may have been too busy singing and dancing and generally being a hyperactive toddler to take photos...)
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