Let us note the prescient
Let us note the prescient moment this evening when I decided that, no, there was not in fact any movie worth digging into the pockets for. Not the achingly bombastic Pearl Harbour. And not that new Rob Schneider film — you know, the one where he gets knocked over by a goat. Sigh. Has the man done anything funny since “the Copy Guy” from SNL?
No, instead I flipped to the local music section of my venerable copy of the Mirror and my eye paused on a caption noting a concert with Joseph Arthur, notable (for me) because Arthur is on Peter Gabriel’s trustworthy Real World label.
A visit to the official web site and the obviously dedicated fan site found me quickly humming along and thinking, This just might be the thing for a drippy, damp Saturday night.
I just got back from the show, and...wow! Good stuff. Arthur spins just the sort of intelligent, acoustic-guitared, harmony-laced pop that I’m a dependable sucker for. He was loose, his band was tight, and the venue, the Cabaret music hall, was delightfully intimate, alive with crisp sound.
Turns out Joseph Arthur’s the sort whose album pleased every critic, made many best of lists, and is known by next to no one. I’d like to say it’s a great injustice, but actually I’m rather pleased to have not seen him in a giant stadium with 20,000 screaming others. Yessir. Just my little secret. Well, now you know.
Previously: What a find: The Empire
Subsequently: Not all the National Post’s
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