It's Friday night and I'm playing a two-hour show at The Ambassadors. For someone who relies almost solely on originals, this is a pretty big ask.My setlist comprises all of my songs that I know well, and don't mind playing, as well as a host of songs I almost never play. Plus a few covers courtesy of Billy Bragg, Alistair Hulett, Joy Division and Wreckless Eric. Thanks guys, the cheque's in the mail.
The bar is filled with after-work drinkers in various stages of disrepair, and I wonder if the level of weekend-welcoming inebriation is the reason why I'm going down so well. Not that I am bothered, a win is a win. Without wishing to put too finer point on things, they love me.
It's nights like this that remind me why I play for people. And play for myself.
As usual, the time passes quickly and I sense that my singing, my harmonica and my 12-string have passed the audition. I could do this every week; it might be time to seek out a residency somewhere...
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