The boyfriend is listening to Micah P. Hinson, whom he met at a tiny in-store performance in Scotland, years ago. “He was nobody,” he said, “A really nice guy, drank a few beers with him and talked for a while.”
This guy’s music is amazing, in the new singer song writer style, similar to Elvis Perkins, son of Anthony Perkins of Psycho fame. There’s something about the repetitious nature of this music that really gets me. I think especially that the juxtaposition of repetition and a slight upbeat tempo when dealing with sorrow and loss affect me the greatest.
Mason Jennings captures this very well. He’s toured with Jack Johnson but something about Johnson’s delivery doesn’t resonate with me the way Jennings’s does. Similar to the way Bright Eyes got me more than most, if not all, of their contemporaries circa 2005.
But the origin of this post was the close call with Micah P. that the boyfriend had. I was once in a similar position with a singer called Angus Martin; a friend gave me a copy of his cd and I discovered he was playing locally. I couldn’t convince anyone to go with me to hear him play, so I went by myself. It turned out he was providing live music at a little French bistro and over hours of listening and eating and occasionally chatting with him, I ended up forgetting that I owed money. By the time I arrived home and had remembered and called the restaurant, he had left and paid my bill. Years later, my lovely now ex-roommate H and I were at dinner in a Park Slope, Brooklyn restaurant when I heard a voice that sounded familiar. As his partner came around to sell cds, I realized I was right, I knew the singer! It was Angus Martin! I marched straight up to him and asked if he remembered me, the situation. He said he did but when I handed him the $20 he asked if I was buying a cd. I clarified and said I’d always felt guilty and was so happy that I could discharge my debt to him. He laughed and said, “Who does that?!” I laughed, and when we left I felt great. It’s the little things, yeah?
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