Alas, tonight it was not about the fans.
Clearly the whining crowd were not long-time fans because, rather than an excited buzz, their complaints could be clearly heard around the room as we waited for Jeff Martin to begin. “my steak wasn’t as good as last time” and “this isn’t what I expected” WTF? Jeff Martin- the musical hunter and gatherer and fusionista of Middle Eastern, Indian and Western culture was about to grace us with his god-like presence, and these people were complaining about steak? Luckily, the man himself arrived, and all was forgotten, including the weird beanie-clad guy that almost blew any chance of an entree of informal conversation, followed by the delectable main serving of personal photographs and the sweet sweet signature dessert. Martin announced that he was here “on a house hunting expedition” then, with a cheeky I’ve-got-a-secret expression, muttered “now watch the comments fly” It seems that the title of “comedian” can now be added to his extensive resume.
After belting out the beginning of The Grand Bazaar sound problems plagued a faultless, pitch perfect start and with remarkable composure, Martin exclaimed “We seem to have lost something” and then with the strum of a guitar and a relieved “Ah,” resumed at the last note, as if restarting a recording. When a man’s voice becomes an instrument, then true musical Zen has been attained. Before the beautiful Requiem fused seamlessly with Psychopomp, Jeff explained that he was wearing a do-rag because he had been up till the wee hours with the local Freo band that he is producing for, and was having a bad hair night as a consequence. His son had innocently remarked that his now looked like Captain Feathersword. Martin corrected him; “You mean Captain Jack Sparrow” but his son insisted; “No… Captain Feathersword”.
Line in the Sand revealed a more serious and environmentally responsible Martin, before the jester came out again, to question the now wooed crowd; “So – enjoying? Are you drinking?” Gone was the choice of starters before cranking the amp way past 11 and Coming Home smashed down like a velvet sledgehammer into a crowded abyss of absolute desperation. The vocal range of this song would have most cynical fan gasping. As he hinted toward a climax, he teasingly edged his way into Fire in the Head and now, knowing that he had the masses completely and utterly in his web, spun back into Coming Home.
Martin’s medleys are a stroke of genius, allowing him to cram as many songs as possible into sixty short minutes. His voice, by now, had broken every nano-inch of circuitry in what we feared was a completely slain PA, but with perfect composure, he asked the crowd to ‘take ten’ and then again with some guitar strumming magic revived the dead PA. As if to soothe the wounded sound system, he played the beautiful instrumental ballad The Badger.
Love the One You’re With was followed with a sermonic speech about his ‘sordid and sick’ rock life with The Tea Party, but perhaps If you cant be with the one you love honey, love the one you’re with was a touch inappropriate. Revisiting the more sombre part of the evening, he followed his preaching with Return Me to the Earth dedicated to his current home in Ireland.
Black Snake Blues received an initially unenthusiastic response, but the crowd were soon clapping and yee-ha ing along, just as a larger audience would. After briefly leaving the stage, he returned, and requested that all mobiles be turned off so that no trace of the next song could ever be heard by his now band mate and percussionist Wayne Sheehy, who, at the very mention of this song, scolds Jeff like a naughty child. The small crowd was then treated to an amazing rendition of Xxxxxxxx xx Xxxxxx [Song title removed to protect Martin from the wrath of Sheehy -Ed] as if this wasn’t enough, the mighty Hendrix classic All Along the Watchtower should have had this ageing crowd pissing their pants with joy. Granted, Friends Restaurant is a beautifully laid out, intimate venue with excellent acoustics, and Clyde the owner, is the perfect host, infinitely deserving of such a show; but won’t somebody think of the fans? Why play such small shows to an invite only crowd, rather than allowing actual fans a chance to hear him cover such classics? This crowd, whilst appreciative, looked as though it might have been just as happy sitting around a campfire singing Kum Ba Yah.
