The Tallest Man on Earth

A skinny figure with his guitar silhouetted in a round moon of white light. One man, casting two shadows. On stage he looks tiny, dressed in skinny jeans (a uniform, it seems, amongst the audience), but there, on both walls, either side of the stage, he really does look like The Tallest Man on Earth.

Then he plays his guitar and sings and there is a collective intake of breath. He is astounding, his voice gravelly, but pure and beautiful. His songs move easily from ones that want to make you wiggle your bum and dance wildly, gypsey-like, preferably under a huge sky filled with stars, to ones that crumple your heart and bring huge, fat tears that drop almost audibly.

This man has plucked the best of The City Beneath The Mountain’s uber-cool and I feel at once cool and old. We bump into a young whippersnapper girl who G works with and she exclaims: "It's so cool to see old people at concerts like this and know you can be cool when you're old!" Well, quite.

It's fabulous. He's astounding. My "old" body and bones don't want it to end and my heart squelches as he plays this, a song he hasn't played before, a new one, recorded coincidentally by a boy I knew once:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PxP384b-HIs

I cried. The look of a boy, with a voice, and a guitar, is unbearably beautiful.