James Blunt

Ok, I’ll be blunt. I don’t know James Blunt and I’ve got nothing against him - he seems like a perfectly nice guy. After Vanessa Carlton’s Living Room set, there was a “buzz” in the house and it was for this British bloke Blunt. I decided I’d stick around and see what all the hubbub was about. After heading around the corner for a quick taco at San Loco (and waiting for my autograph and photo-op with Vanessa) I headed back into the Living Room.

By now, a rather large crowd had assembled and were waiting to enter the back room for the performance. It was then, I found out it was designated an “industry-only” performance (strike 1). This came as a surprise to some of Mr. Blunt’s fans, since nothing was mentioned on the L.R.’s web site or on the handy chalkboard out front, including a few that BOUGHT tickets to Vanessa’s show to get a good spot for Mr. Blunt. Mind you, most shows at the Living Room are free (1 drink minimum per set and a fire bucket is passed around for tips for the performers).

So at first the crowd is being let in with the speed of molasses out of a funnel. I decide I’ll grab a spot at the bar and chill out sensing perhaps I’m seeing the next Dylan (Bob) or maybe the next Dylan (90210). Eventually, some “industry” person snaps their fingers or waves their arms and the log jam is broken and the next 50 people, who I must assume are “industry-only,” cruise on in. I see the faces of the Blunt fans who paid 20 bucks each to get in for his “free” set. It was reminiscent of the PBS documentary years ago which screwed with little kids’ heads by first telling them blue-eyed kids were better than the rest and then flip-flopping and saying the opposite.

Somewhere behind the red curtains separating the bar from the performance space, James Blunt takes the stage to the adoring applause of his “industry-only” fans. Only then does the woman with the clipboard let me and the non-industry folks in (strike 2). By then, there is barely standing room in the space.

The crowd falls silent as Mr. Blunt begins to sing and strum his acoustic guitar. He is accompanied by another fellow singing background vocals and coaxing gentle cords from an electric organ. The song is a’ight (thanks, Randy Jackson for adding that to my vocab). Song 2: again, a’ight. I decide to stick it out for one more. At some point in song 2 or song 3, Mr. Blunt rhymes “damage is done” with “prodigal son” and I roll my eyes.

Song 3 = strike 3, so I turn on my heels and head for the door and the subway leading me home.