
Come to my house for a very special concert on Friday night.
Last night I spent at least an hour swapping messages with a new friend on Facebook who happens to be the daughter of an interesting woman who lives nearby. I mentioned an upcoming concert featuring an internationally known fingerstyle guitar player at the absolute top of his game. And that she and her mother would be most welcome to attend. (This is outer Montana, very rural; every seat is a great seat, and every seat with a paying person in it counts. Which is why I work hard to sell the events. They wouldn’t happen otherwise.)
The artist in question is a music industry legend who fills concert halls and listening rooms and music festivals and who delights and thrills his audiences with every thumb-busting performance he gives. All over the world. This artist could easily win a place on a list of the top guitar players who have ever lived. At least among followers of fingerstyle guitar.
No kidding. This artist is easily a world-class performer, composer and musician, by any credible measure. One Google search would provide all the artist credibility needed to validate a decision to see the artist. But we’re not talking about what is credible here.
My new Facebook friend’s incredible ensuing interrogatory was predictable for someone who was looking—first and foremost—for a way out of “having to” attend a concert with an artist she did not yet know. She wasn’t interested in what she could learn about the artist by simply showing up, putting her butt in a seat and digesting every juicy moment of the show with the artist less than 8 feet away.
My Facebook pal wanted to know more about the artist: did he sing? Or does he “just” strum?


