Tonight, I went to a concert. By myself. And it was really wonderful.
Many summers ago, my dear friend had a mix among his many burned CD mixes called “My Martin.” I burned it, tacking on my friend’s camp name to the mix, so that, to this day, my iTunes reads “Rumble’s My Martin.”
And so I was introduced to Martin Sexton.
When I heard he was coming to town again, I was quick to buy a ticket (ticket #21). Long before I knew whether anyone else would come.
Because I’m tired of trying to rile the troops. He’s wonderful in concert and I didn’t want to miss out.
For a while, a friend was going to meet me. But her work plans changed, last minute.
And so I went to dinner alone and ordered my new favorite pizza. I read a bit from “Life Would be Perfect if I Lived in That House” (recommended by Holly from Nothing But Bonfires). I had a couple of beers, beers that really hit the spot (kind of like the mystery of super-clean showers). And then I reveled in being alone in a crowd.
Alone in a singing, clapping crowd. Feeling a sense of community I haven’t felt in a while, even in a city where people throw around the “c” word like it’s, well, candy. Singing along to some of my favorite songs. Singing backup when he asked the crowd to “sing like angels.” Clapping and snapping and tapping my toe. Yelling out the request for my favorite, “Hallelujah,” something I never would have done had I known the person sitting next to me. But my seatmate and I made friends after all. Her boyfriend loved “Hallelujah” just like me. And even though he didn’t play it, I left feeling really content. Pleased I came.
So here it is, Hallelujah, but a couple of other favorites. If you get a chance to see Martin Sexton, alone or with others, I highly recommend you go.
As far as I’m concerned, all of these are from “Rumble’s My Martin,” the album.