Sam Baker plays his guitar left-hand. He didn't used to. Back in 1986, at the age of 32, Sam was travelling in Peru. A bus he was travelling on was blown up by terrorists. Many of the people he'd been chatting with, passing the time of day, were killed. Sam survived, but only just. His femoral artery was severed, but miraculously, he didn't bleed to death. His hands were also badly mutilated by the bomb, his left fretboard hand coming off worse. So, Sam learned to fret with his right hand.
A lesser man might have given up. Thank god he didn't. Sunday evening was one of the loveliest performances by any artist I've seen for a long time. I know it seems I'm often moved to tears by stuff I write about in this blog, but three times in one evening? It's a record, even for this daft softy. The words to 'Broken Fingers' are particularly poignant, as Sam points out before he plays the song. A young German boy and his family had been sitting opposite Sam just before the blast. Once the bomb had gone off, Sam knew the boys parents had died, and had to watch as the young boy slowly passed away. I'm not sure if inspiration is the right word here, but this led to the writing of 'Broken Fingers' - watch here, and perhaps I won't seem like such a daft softy after all:
The setting was also rather special. Cecil Sharp House is the home of the English Folk, Dance and Song Society. The main room at Cecil Sharp House is a large, airy room, warm-hued wooden floor, stunning sound and beautifully lit for the performance, with just a couple of simple spotlights on the stage. The show was put on by those lovely people of Luminaire fame, Andy and John, now promoting in their new guise of 5000 Presents. I'm certain there'll be more quality shows like this in the months to come, keep an eye on their listings here:
(Postscript: in need of a clear head, I had a long walk to the Heath the day after Sam's show. Beautiful Autumn day, obscenely sunny and warm for the time of year. Walked for miles and miles. Lovely. Thirsty work that walking lark. Finished my walk in a small pub near Gospel Oak - Southampton Arms. I'd heard tell of this place by The Scot, so knew it could be a watering hole on my walk home. What a superb way to quench my thirst. A proper little boozer, not gastro-ed up, lots of original features, huge range of proper ales and cider. They play vinyl on an old turntable behind the bar (Elizabeth Cotten was spinning while I supped - result):
and shock of shocks - they sell Seabrook crisps:
I was so pleased (and happy listening to the chat of the old blokes at the bar) that I broke my one-half-only rule and had a second half of Pale Beauty. I was very thirsty, after all.)
