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Show Review
Martin Sexton will stun you. Drawing on the familiar and catchy Sexton got the evening started with a few of his more upbeat, toe-tapping songs. “Faith on the Table” and “Angeline” lifted the crowd up light, flicking the tone switch to get his crowd—and this was his crowd, from the first note played—going. He kept them going with “Diggin' Me”, a “boogie-woogie” number according to its crooner, that had the house clapping along. It’s at this early point in the evening that I had to double-check the stage. I swore that there had to be some other musicians on the stage… but it was all Sexton, strumming his strings, drumming the body of the guitar, and using his own Weapon of Mass Inflection – voice.Sexton’s voice has more range than the Andes. He can roll the blues thunder out when needed, and just as easily cut through with the falsetto sunshine. It really has to be heard to be believed. What’s even more impressive, though, is that he appears to have swallowed a six-piece band. His voice can impersonate a bongo, a trumpet, a chorus of bells, a high hat, a melancholy Alpine yodeler, an electric guitar (with the help of a wah-wah pedal) and a bevy of people from his past. Like an anxious child, his voice puts you in the coaster and takes you for a ride. You never know what’s over the next crest, but you sure enjoy the ride.  The most memorable moments came from Sexton’s penchant for improvisation. At the close of the inquisitive “Hallelujah”, he broke one of his strings. While this might have become an awkward moment of apologies and sideward looks from the stage, Sexton made it part of the song. He closed it with a demonic, ripping chord, and then pulled the string dramatically away. That tune complete, he drifted right into the next without a hint of guitar. The song: a medley of “Mercedes Benz” by Janis Joplin and “Electric Avenue” by Eddie Grant, done entirely with vocal and guitar-pounding percussion. I was shaking my head, but I wasn’t sure if it was with the rhythm or in amazement.Dreaming was a staple theme of Sexton’s sets, and the centerpiece of his rise to music stardom. Raised in Syracuse, Sexton left his family to follow his dreams in Boston. He ended up playing as a street musician in Harvard Square, where he began to show his wares. “Glory Bound” drew out the ups and downs of his journey when he was camped in his VW and “living off of apple fields and old cigars”. His poignant depiction of the path in search of his dream inspires, and gave those listening something real to affix to their own chimerical musings. The finest songs came in the final part of the show. Answering the continuing pleas of the crowd, Sexton launched into another of his autobiographical anthems: “Black Sheep”. He called on the crowd—his “angels”—to sing a soft background to the chorus of the song. Truth be told, when I stopped to listen, I wasn’t sure he was too far off with the angel thing. He had turned us into more than listeners, but a participatory band of cherubim backing up the archangel. Well, not quite. But we didn’t suck, I’ll tell you that much.His pipes ailing, Sexton must’ve known he would only play one encore. He decided to close with “Way I Am”, a clear vehicle for his talents of sonant. The yodeling chorus was amazing, and it amounted to him showing off a bit and reminding his listeners that there really is no one else out there like him. So, once again Martin Sexton left town triumphant, his fans predictably in awe. One thing is for sure: this show was a roller coaster ride that I will be talking about for a while.
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Did you ever walk off of a roller coaster and look at the people who were riding with you? Did you see the look on their faces – the wide eyes and big smiles of appreciation and awe? Talking about which parts of the ride they loved the most, giddy with residual adrenaline? That’s the look that nearly everyone I saw had after Martin Sexton’s one-man show at The Fillmore in San Francisco.
