Posted via web from Guff, Gubbins, and Goodness

Posted via web from Guff, Gubbins, and Goodness

Today is the 1st anniversary of Mum’s death. She never read this review; like an idiot I never got around to publishing it while she was alive. I did tell her about the gig though.

I’ve not edited this for context or anything, it’s exactly how it was written 18 months ago.

————————————-

This review is for Mum. I probably ought to explain why.

Mum’s just coming to the end of her second run of Chemotherapy; it’s the third time her Breast Cancer has come back. I won’t go into specifics, but suffice to say she’s not had a fun time of it over the last couple of years.

Chemotherapy makes her painfully tired, makes her hair fall out, and just flat out makes her poorly. How she’s managed to remain as upbeat as she had throughout it all is beyond me. But, as upbeat as she is, there are some things she just can’t do at the moment.

And one such thing, despite her love for the guy, was to go and see Michael Bublé play at Nottingham Ice Arena on Sunday the 2nd of December. So, this review, it’s for Mum. Now you know.

I bought the tickets off Mum, and took my mother-in-law. She didn’t have a clue who this Bublé guy was, but I thought she might enjoy it. I’d never seen him live either, but I’d been entertained by his appearance on Las Vegas a while back, and I’d heard good things.

The arena was impressively packed; it’s great to see a UK audience get behind an artist like this in the way that they did. But before every great headline act, there has to be a support act. And in this case, they just happened to be great to.

I doubt anyone in the arena had ever heard of Naturally 7, but I suspect they’ll all be telling their friends about them now. Comprised of, unsurprisingly, seven guys, they’re a soul group who imitate the sounds of instruments with their voices. They performed a couple of their own songs, and their version of Phil Collins’ “In the Air Tonight”, and a little Simon and Garfunkel medley.

It sounds cheesy, but they’re so charismatic and more than slightly tongue in cheek, and they pull it off. They warmed up the crowd like few support acts I’ve ever seen, and set the tone nicely for the rest of the evening. I recommend having a look at their website if you’d like to know more – http://www.n7house.de/

After a brief interlude, it was time for the main attraction to take that stage. That’s a great word to describe Michael – attraction – because he’s incredibly charismatic, good looking, good moving, and just all round so damned likable.

Within the first few moments of being on stage, he’d hopped down into the audience to have his photo taken with a 9 year old girl, had his ass grabbed by an enthusiastic fan, and confessed that he liked Westlife’s version of Home better than his. Not sure I agree there though…

He moved effortless from old standards like Me and Mrs Jones and Feeling Good, to his own numbers Home, Lost, and Everything, and back to slightly more modern, less old-school tracks like You Are Always On My Mind, and Crazy Little Thing Called Love. It was also nice of him to throw in Let It Snow, despite it only being December 2nd.

It may all be carefully staged and rehearsed, but it’s just such phenomenally good entertainment that I really don’t care. Whether he’s reeling off one of his cute little monologues, or sliding around the stage, Bublé is mesmerizing.

At one point, there’s a fall out with the brass section; Bublé storms off stage because he insists that they got more applause than he did, and the trombone player appears to continue with the gig. After complaining about Michael’s Diva-esque ways he starts to sing the next song, before having his mic snapped back by Bublé. They then proceed to swap roles, with Bublé playing trombone, and the trombone player singing for the next track. It’s not Michael playing, and that’s obvious, but it’s great fun.

I don’t own a Michael Bublé album, but I’ll admit that now I’ve seen him live, I want to. There’s a feel-good quality about his music, and his attitude that’s missing in a lots of artist’s work these days. It’s not surprising that an arena full of people wanted to tap into that, and it’s precisely what they get. Every single person left that arena with a smile on their faces.

And I’ll be seeing Michael again too, count on it. And, next time, I’ll be taking Mum with me.

No idea just how enthusiastic and adoring the fans are. No idea of the insane distances they’d travel to see him. And no idea just how damn good Dave Matthews is live.

The evening began like many others. We drove to Birmingham, parked the car, and walked over to the venue. Despite the fact that we’d arrived an hour before the doors opened, the line of people queuing to get in stretched further than the eye could see. Despondent, we started to make our way to the end of the line and noticed prominently placed “Jump The Queue” signs. These suggested that if you enter Bar Academy – a diminutive little bar which sits alongside Birmingham Academy, our venue for the night – and buy a drink, they’ll stamp your pass and let you jump the queues. The queue for Bar Academy was approximately one tenth of the length of the main queue and there was a drink at the end of this one. No contest.

We soon entered the bar. The lone barmaid didn’t look terribly happy about the assembled hordes of Dave Matthews fans clamouring for a drink, but I squeezed myself into the crowd in an attempt to get her attention. The bar seemed to be entirely filled with Americans which took me by surprise; it’s not very often you get that when you go to see a band in Birmingham. Indeed, you don’t get that a lot in the UK. While I waited, I did a deal with a couple of local chaps who were at the side of me. “See,” one said to the other, “I told you we weren’t the only people in the UK liked Dave Matthews”. The deal was, whoever gets the attention of the bar staff first buys the other’s drinks and gets their tickets stamped. As luck would have it, I reached the bar first. 5 bottles of water later we had 5 stamped tickets and hurtled into the venue.

I thought we’d done quite well; the main queue hadn’t moved much at all whilst we were getting our tickets stamped, but there were already a significant number of people around the stage. I would later learn that said main queue had formed roughly four hours prior to the doors opening, so in hindsight, I don’t think we did too badly.

A young English guy called Richard Walters appeared on stage to provide support. He sat alone with his guitar, and plucked away at a few songs. I have to be totally honest and say I didn’t like him at all. He seemed to go down quite well with the crowd (apart from the guy who shouted “IT’S MISTER MATTHEWS TO YOU”) but I just found his tortured, post-Coldplay, minimalist approach slightly nauseating. Having said that, Coldplay do very well for themselves…

I first came across Dave Matthews on a 9/11 benefit concert on TV. Actually, that’s not strictly true: I first came across Dave on the Scream 2 soundtrack, but I digress. I can’t recall which network the concert appeared on, but one of our numerous (five) terrestrial channels repeated it in the UK. In between the sombre readings from a variety of A-list celebrities (amongst them Tom Cruise and Al Pacino, if I remember correctly) this guy appeared with a guitar and played what I thought was a surprisingly upbeat song, under the circumstances. I made a mental note of the lyrics – it wasn’t hard, they were clearly an homage to the Beatles – and the next day I “discovered” Dave Matthews. I bought Everyday and I still think it’s a great album. I was aware of his other work – the recent solo album Some Devil, Stand Up, Crash etc. – but for some bizarre reason I’ve never given them the same amount of attention.

Packed between various members of the crowd, in the surprisingly humid atmosphere of The Academy, it occurred to me that I really didn’t have a great deal of knowledge about Dave Matthews Band. As the realisation dawned, the man himself appeared to a roar of applause. And I do mean roar; the reception was without doubt the loudest response I’ve ever heard (in a venue of this size, at least) to a single guy appearing on stage.

He opened with Bartender, getting another roar of applause about half way through, and then marched straight into Gray Sreet. It was immediately obvious that, musically at least, we were in for a special evening. Matthews has a way of switching from hushed, sensitive vocals and gentle acoustic strumming to full-on driving acoustic guitar and growling delivery that’s entirely captivating. What wasn’t immediately obvious was just how funny Dave is on stage. After Gray Street, he told a surprisingly long winded anecdote about a tribe of bushmen in Africa, and he almost reminds me of Robin Williams; “I always talk a lot when I’m nervous,” he said, but he doesn’t just talk. He winks, laughs, swears, minces (while sipping away at a “delicious blend of herbal infusions” he very camply proclaimed that “I choose them by colour, this one’s mauve”), and insists on slipping into a (reasonable) Enlish accent. He holds the stage just as well while talking as he does singing, and few people I’ve ever seen can hold a stage like Dave Matthews. Most of the set was performed acoustically, but there were brief switches to the electric guitar (most notably for Smooth Rider and Some Devil). Dave did quite a large amount of talking throughout: “We’ve got a place called Birmingham back home, ‘cept we don’t call it ‘Beermingum’, we call it ‘Birming-HAM!’”. And just why does he act like such a fool on stage? “My analyst says I act like this because I’m not in touch with my inner pain….but why would you get in touch with your inner pain when being a fool is so much more fun!” The crowd certainly weren’t complaining – Dave’s clowning produced some genuine laughs from everyone present.

Just after Stay or Leave I was tapped on the shoulder by an American girl who insisted that, as she had flown all the way from Florida, she “had to see Dave Matthews”. I have something of an unofficial policy of, if asked, allowing anyone who’s shorter than me to stand in front of me. Why should I mind? They’re not going to block my view, and I get that warm and fuzzy feeling that only comes with a good deed. In this instance, once I’d said yes (I think it was the fact that she excitedly said “I have to see his feet” that convinced me), the girl called to her entourage and marched them into the small space in front of me. All four of them. They then stood in a circle, talking loudly about anything but the gig. One of them turned and caught the full force of my finely honed Paddington hard stare and offered me a hug. “Watch the gig” I growled. Clearly unhappy that his offer had been rebuffed, he offered me a kiss. Again, I suggested he watch the gig, but with an increased dose of menace. Clearly misinterpreting my lack of enthusiasm he slurred “it’s not gay or anything”, and I had to growl another even more menacing suggestion at him before he got the message. After a while, two of the group staggered off in search of the toilets. After a little more time, the remaining two had some sort of domestic disagreement and stormed off. I’ve tried, but I can’t understand the mentality of flying that sort of distance, only to stand and talk amongst yourselves and get so drunk you can’t last the whole gig.

I’m happy to say that other areas of the audience were far less rude. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever heard as many people sing along with entire songs before. I’m not just talking about the chorus, or a couple of particularly poignant lines, these guys knew entire songs. And more often than not they were pitch perfect – So Much To Say being a good example (even the “b-b-baby!”). Even more impressive was the audience providing the “honey honey” backing vocals on the intro to Everyday – I didn’t even know they existed! Throughout the course of the gig, Dave made several comments which alluded to bringing the rest of the band to the UK for a longer tour. Please do, Mr Matthews, you’ll find us to be more than accommodating.

Just after the American disturbance, I received a call from my wife to tell me that our son was ill and that she was taking him to the emergency doctor. This is the first time I’ve had this happen, and it filled me with such dread that I found it virtually impossible to concentrate on the gig for a few songs. Here I was, miles away, incapable of getting back within an hour if something terrible happened. Could I do anything if I returned home, anyway? Despite all the awful thoughts running through my head, I was helplessly pulled back into the gig for two songs, Everyday and Gravedigger – it’s a testament to the power of his performance that Matthews managed to penetrate the cloud of worry I was wallowing under for a while. I found Gravedigger particularly moving in the circumstances; it beautifully suited the stripped-down, acoustic solo treatment. Another incredibly moving track is So Damn Lucky, a chilling yet strangely catchy account of a car crash. A few songs later I was relieved to hear better news from my wife and managed to focus enough to enjoy the last few tracks and encore. And what a magnificent encore: After reappearing in a fresh t-shirt (Dave sweats “an almost disgusting amount” – his words) he performed a great new track which appears to be called Sister (about his sister, funnily enough), a funky crowd pleasing rendition of Too Much, and an awesomely powerful solo acoustic version of All Along the Watchtower. I’ve never heard the Dave Matthews Band perform this track, but if it’s half as impressive as Dave performing it alone I have no doubt it will leave a huge impact.

The most striking thing about the whole gig is that ever since, I’ve been humming several songs. I’ve gone in search of bootleg recordings, and listened to all those albums I’ve neglected. And, despite the brilliance of recent gigs, I’ve never really walked out of one and needed to see the performer again immediately. Before I saw him perform, I would describe myself as quite liking Dave Matthews. Now I’ve seen him, I feel a desperate but inconvenient urge to own everything he’s ever recorded, and follow him around the world. I suspect it might be better to just wait until he comes back to England though. Don’t let us down Dave!

And I've continued to love them. Despite my wandering preferences, and lack of enthusiasm or tolerance for some of the bands I favoured back "then", I've continued to listen to, and enjoy, "Vision Thing" and "Floodland" in recent years. And so, it was with much excitement that I made my way to Nottingham to see them perform at Rock City. Little did I know that discovering a new car park would be the most exciting event of the evening…

It doesn't start well. The support act, The Ivories, give an uninspiring performance full of jangly, haunted-house guitars and screeching vocals. Their front-woman's painful lack of charisma renders the whole performance deeply tiresome after the first few songs. Credit where it's due: The drummer does a nice job, and her backing vocals are far better than the lead's.

During the relative calm of the post-support interval, I pick my way through the assembled crowd (one of the largest I've seen at Rock City) to the bar. After much dodging and weaving I arrive and wait keenly, elbows perched on the bar, for a member of staff to catch my gaze. My eyes wander to the full-length mirrors behind the bar and I realise with some amusement how bizarre I look. I'd made a half hearted attempt at "goth" for the night; an old Vampire:The Masquerade t-shirt had been dusted off and pulled out of the wardrobe. This proved too small (I'm sure it must have shrunk in the wash or something), and so I switched to my faithful grey Bullseye t-shirt. As a result, my reflection in the mirrors makes me look like a darts fan at an Addams Family convention, surrounded as I am by frilly white shirts, black sequined dresses, and large amounts of leather. 

In the moments before the main act appear, vast amounts of smoke are pumped onto the stage. Vast amounts; just as I think there can't possibly be any more smoke, there is. Eventually, veiled by an obscene amount of smoke, three figures "appear" on stage and launch into their opening track. The energetic, thrusting guitar sounds pretty good, but Eldritch's vocals are quite low in the mix, and I have difficulty making out which song this is. I come to the conclusion that it's a new track called "Crash and Burn". 

From here, things start to go wrong. The sound guy (let's call him Bob) is furiously playing with his knobs and dials, and at this point I still have sufficient faith to think that he'll fix the sound. A fan appears behind me, shouting at a bearded guy who is busily pushing buttons behind Bob. "Why's he so quiet?" he shouts and Beard frantically points at Bob – "Not me! Him! Him!". The fan moves away; Bob is clearly engrossed in his knobs.

The second track kicks off – "Ribbons". A rather large, female goth is hoisted onto the shoulders of someone in front of me and, in silhouette against the lights and smoke of the stage, starts to perform elaborate actions to the words of the song. She's obviously decided that, as Eldritch is pretty much inaudible, she'll sign the lyrics for everyone. How nice of her.

Third track: A sort of Dr.
Jeep/Detonation Boulevard medley. I begin to wonder just what exactly is going on with the vocals? Eldritch is way too quiet, and yet the backing vocals provided by his God-awful shouty nu-metal guitarist are horribly loud. A new track follows. At least, I think it's a new track – by this point things might as well be instrumental. The stage is now so full of smoke that the band are no longer even silhouettes. I think I catch a section of the chorus, something along the lines of "if it makes you happy". I don't think this is a Sheryl Crow cover, however.

Next come two popular tracks, "When You Don't See Me" and "Flood I". A large (male) ponytailed goth is hoisted up in front of me, and I can't help but wonder what the guy holding him looks like. Finger wiggling, wrist crossing, and some sort of kung-fu style punching (think: the training scene from Enter The Dragon) ensue. Ponytail is having a good time, at least.

Three more new tracks follow, and by this point I'm so bored that I check my email and send a few text messages. There are now three finger wiggling goths silhouetted against the stage; every one of them more enthusiastic than Eldritch. I remark to myself how much one of the new tracks sounds like "Sweet Dreams". Bob is still frantically flicking switches and twirling knobs. I still can't hear Eldritch and the rest of the noise from on-stage hasn't changed at all – I become convinced that they've given Bob a desk that isn't plugged in.

After what seems like an age of unidentifiable noise, they play "Dominion/Mother Russia". Things sound slightly more impressive for a while, but tedium soon returns. I still can't hear anything, and the idiot on guitar is shouting into his microphone again. I do manage to figure out what the floaty goth dancers are doing by this point though; They are clearly as bored as me, and are doing the old linked-thumbs, wiggle-fingers "Look – it's a butterfly" shadow puppets routine.

At this point the will to live has pretty much departed as five more mysterious tracks are played. I can appreciate the urge to play new material, but when the lead singer isn't introducing anything to the crowd, and when you've not released an album for nearly ten years, it gets quite tedious. Eldritch hops about for one track making loud gargling noises, which sound exactly like The Cookie Monster doing the Tarzan yodel. What's particularly surprising is that the gig is being filmed; a guy wanders over to change the tape just after the Tarzan track, and squints – in that "I know what I'm doing, me" type way – through the eye piece. I'm sure, just like the rest of us, all he can see is a stage full of smoke. 

"This Corrosion" is played and the crowd, for the first time all night, become animated. Slightly. The band then promptly depart from the stage. A few moments later they return for an encore of "Something Fast" (with accompaniment from a mysteriously absent female vocalist) and "Lucretia". The audience react well, Ponytail is hoisted above the crowd again (although this time he's taking a leaf out of the large female goth's book and is signing to the words), and Bob is still leaping from one end of the mixing desk to the other, desperately looking for the volume control. Or the off switch.

They finish again, Eldritch bows and they leave. Then they return again. Except something is wrong. There is no smoke, and no Eldritch. The two guitarists leap about for a few minutes, performing what I believe they think is a spirited instrumental track but which actually looks very silly. Particularly as shouty Nu-metal guitarist manages to propel his sunglasses across the stage mid-leap. The smoke returns, as does Eldritch, and I start to wonder whether he's had some sort of horrible disfiguring accident and can't bear to have the crowd look at him. Or maybe the mist just follows him around, like some sort of bad b-movie monster? For their finale, the band perform a Sisters of Mercy tribute-act quality version of Temple of Love, and are gone. 

This gig was, without doubt, the worst I've seen in a long time, maybe ever. And I never thought I'd say that about the Sisters Of Mercy. I really wanted Eldritch to be as magnificent live as he is on the albums, but based on this gig, he's not. Will we ever see a new Sisters of Mercy album? I have to wonder. Some of the "new" tracks have been part of the set since 1993, and Eldritch still hasn't released them. I also have to wonder whether the bad vocal mixing and the ludicrous amounts of smoke weren't intentional; all part of Andrew Eldritch's attempt at self-mythologising. One things for sure: I'll never pay money to see them again.

Flash forward a few years to the present day, specifically Wednesday the 3rd of May 2006. My father, my uncle and I (a trio who regularly go to gigs around the Midlands area of Britain) travelled to Wolverhampton to see John Martyn perform at the Robin 2. My father had seen him perform before (and has the t-shirt to prove it), I hadn't. As a result, I didn't know quite what to expect.

The last time I visited the Robin (to see an entertaining performance by Nils Lofgren) it was being renovated. The renovations are now complete and the venue is perhaps one of the finest I've been to. The ceiling slopes down on one side of the hall, an architectural feature which I suspect enhances the acoustics significantly. It's not too big, not too small, and has a good sized, raised stage to provide the audience with a better view of their performer. Future acts at the Robin include Jeff Healey, and The Blue Oyster Cult.

The support act for the evening was a young guy called John Smith; A common name, but an uncommon talent. He was superb, arguably one of the best support acts I have ever seen. The first song he performed involved using his acoustic guitar as a percussion instrument: Drumming with his right hand, while his left played notes on the fretboard. Three fingers were used for melody, one finger provided occasional bursts of bass. Subsequent songs were performed in a slightly more traditional (albeit no less impressive) manner, with the exception of "Winter", his final song. For this, he placed the guitar on his lap and used it to provide percussion for the duration of the song. During the chorus he would hit strings to provide short bursts of other notes. The track can be heard on John's MySpace page here.

Smith has a voice and style that's clearly influenced by Martyn, but vocally he reminds me more of Ben Ottewell (Gomez) with occasional bursts of Pearl Jam's Eddie Vedder – this is perhaps unsurprising given that Ottewell himself has been compared to Vedder. Impressive as Smith's vocal and musical talents are it's his charisma that makes him come across as well as he does on stage. Between songs he joked with the audience and thankfully doesn't take himself too seriously. After his first song he commented on how nice it was to play at a venue where the crowd were visible: "We were in Milton Keynes the other night – have you seen Milton Keynes? It's like Dawn of the Dead down there!". Later in the set he burst into The Fine Young Cannibals' "She Drives Me Crazy", and enthusiastically told us how pleased he was to have figured it out. He conveys an enthusiasm and warmth that's refreshing in a young artist, particularly one as talented as Smith clearly is. Following his set I rushed over to the merchandise stall to grab a copy of his CD, and got the opportunity to tell him how good I thought his performance had been. He seems like a nice guy in person, and I hope to see him on stage again soon. He's supporting Robert Cray in a few days; now there's a line-up…

And so to the main act: The last time I saw John Martyn was in the BBC documentary Johnny Too Bad. This was filmed a few months before and after what must have been a life changing operation: due to an infected cyst, John's right leg was amputated below the knee. During the documentary, John looked surprisingly well for a man who's been as unwell as he has. At every gig, moments before the artist you are about to see appears on stage, you construct a mental image of them. The mental image I had was of the John Martyn in the BBC documentary; these days the reality is shockingly different. In the years since the BBC documentary, he's gained a massive amount of weight. He was helped onto the stage, lowered himself into a chair that only moments before had been cautiously tested to ensure it would take his weight, and an assistant handed him his guitar. I was initially shocked; this man was so different to the image in my head, how could he possibly sound like the John Martyn I knew? Was he still the good-natured man the BBC had portrayed him as being?

In a word: Yes. Within moments of appearing on stage, as the audience applauded and he carefully made his way to his chair, John Martyn flicked his hand at the audience in a camp "ooh, stop!" gesture which set the tone for the duration of the performance. He was joined on stage by Alan Thompson on bass, Spencer Cozens on keyboard, and Arran Ahmun (or as I misheard "Aaron Baboom") on drums. Every member of the band came across as a talented musician in their own right, particularly Thompson on bass.

Martyn and band opened the set with "CoolTide": An odd choice, and in comparison with the rest of the set one that didn't really have much of an impact. It was undoubtedly good, but coming so soon after the unease and shock of his appearance, it struggled to make a significant impact on me.

When "CoolTide" finished, John started to chat with the audience. It soon became apparent that the guy in the BBC documentary was still around. He joked – both with the band and the audience, he laughed at himself and the other members of the band, bursting into "Happy Birthday" when he announced it was Thompson's birthday, and at one point insisting that, between them, Thompson and Cozens simulated the sound of fireworks while he played the part of the cooing spectator. Banter was plentiful, and like his support act Martyn doesn't take himself too seriously (he was reduced to fits of giggles during a drum solo). Just as with his singing, you have to concentrate when he talks; often there are virtually no gaps between words and your brain has to slow things down a bit. I didn't have too much trouble understanding him, but I overheard several members of the audience remark at how difficult he was to understand. I suspect a few years of trying to make sense of The Fall's Mark E. Smith helps.

At this stage, I should point out that I might not recall every track that John played. I'm reasonably certain he followed "CoolTide" with a brilliant rendition of "Couldn't Love You More". I know he played "Glorious Fool" – a song which is just as relevant today as it was during Ronald Reagan's presidency, when Martyn wrote it, and followed that with Ben Harper's "Excuse Me Mister". The problem is this: I discovered that a strange thing happens when John Martyn plays. For large parts of the performance I found myself to be completely absorbed, unaware of the people around me, or of the venue I was in. And no, I hadn't smoked anything – the performance was just that good. 

When John Martyn plays, the age, weight, and weariness fall away. I've heard the cliche "it takes years off him" applied to many performers, but John Martyn is the first person I've actually seen that embodies it. He's magnificent, whether performing glorious (yet somehow understated) guitar solos, or plucking away unconventionally during "Big Muff" (one of many high points).

After performing several songs on the electric guitar, Martyn switched to acoustic. "Oh, how very folky!" he exclaimed, shrugging his bulk into the guitar strap that his assistant had placed over his head. With the shift to the acoustic guitar, his voice became more subdued, yet retained the trademark John Martyn growl. He performed older tracks like "Don't Want To Know", and "Solid Air" (something I've always wanted to see live: that's another one off the list), "Sunshine's Better", and "Rock Salt and Nails". His performance was even more impressive during this part of the set.

I'm told he doesn't perform "May You Never" any more; apparently he's sick of playing it. It's a privilege then to have heard him sing it here. It's a beautiful song, and the audience agreed; it seemed that the whole room sang, which on other occasions I might find tacky but which felt quite moving here.

As the evening came to a close the electric guitar returned, and we were treated to one of the most astonishing live performances I have ever seen. Earlier in the evening, when Martyn commented on the heat (something he did many times throughout the set; he was dripping with sweat when he finished) someone shouted "Too hot for John Wayne?" – "He might make an appearance later" he replied. And what an appearance! I would ask any John Martyn fan to try to imagine the impact of a full-on performance of this song, but I doubt your imagination could come close – to actually see this unfold before me was genuinely breathtaking. The riff, the growling vocal, the power present in this performance was mesmerizing.

I felt certain that "John Wayne" would be the last track of the night; how could he possibly better it? His assistant returned  and removed the guitar, leaving John looking strangely vulnerable without it. As the band played a gentle backing track, John used his most powerful instrument, that voice, to sing a heartbreakingly beautiful version of "Never Let Me Go". He seemed to be imploring the audience to remember him fondly, and yet almost seemed apologetic in some way. Once done he was helped off the stage to a roar of applause. I didn't expect an encore, and didn't get one – it's clearly an enormous amount of effort for him to move around.

John Martyn is a unique talent: Massively influential, wonderful to watch on stage, an incredible guitarist and with a voice that transforms both sentences and songs into fantastic bursts of sound. This is music that is worth paying attention to – I just hope I get the chance to pay attention again.