Adrian Legg Puts His Spell On Atlanta


The Red Light Café
July 28th, 2003

Fan base known as: The Leggheads

Adrian Legg played to an overflowing Red Light Café. This small Atlanta
venue was standing room only, and it was cozy. The Red Light Café has
recovered from the fire. His set was simple- a chair, a couple of lights, his
microphone stand and his gear. He was dressed simply- black shirt and khakis.
But don’t let that simple shit fool you. The simple set and the simple
lights were so as not to distract you from his music. I love an artist that
puts the focus on the music and not a complicated fucking light show. -The Red
Light Café became Adrian’s secret magical garden that he invited
us all into. He taught the crowd about the pixies in England, and he was fucking
funny with his Brit wit. My favorite was his joke about Americans only being
familiar with cuckoos in government. He also asked that we send our extra therapists
over to counsel birds in London. Whenever anything happens in this country,
we DO have busloads of therapists that arrive on the scene. He is RIGHT, so
why not send the extra over for the sad little birdies? He seemed AMAZED that
nobody had been To England. We might not travel much in the South, be we know
what we like. Trust me, we REALLY like him. –In between all of these cute
little bits that he was doing, the crowd was treated to some of the most AMAZING
guitar work that has ever hit Atlanta. This man can tune his guitar during a
song-constantly. His fingers move so fast that they look like a blur. He was
aware of how everything sounded at ALL times. He sounded flawless. -At this
point, I have to mention Khale Davis, the soundman for the Red Light Café.
A bad soundman will kill the best artist. I have seen it happen. The sound was
so HUGE and clear, that Adrian could have been playing in Phillips.
–He made that guitar sing. I felt his very soul-tender, fun, sad, and
passionate. This musician lets it all hang out, no holds barred. This is what
good art is all about. -That crowd was spellbound by the incredible wizardry
of Adrian Legg. No one talked. Everyone sat still, shut the fuck up, and listened.
Everyone respected the fact that Mr. Legg is a militant non smoker, and did
not light up. – Think about the people you know that smoke. Think about them
not lighting up during a show that is two hours long. What are the chances?
I know I saw plenty of packs of Marlboros on tables. There has to be something
pretty fucking incredible for a smoker not to at least slip outside. We were
all under his spell, and everybody loved it. Maybe we could market Guitar Bones
as a stop smoking cd. –I really thought the song Old Friends was spooky.
He made that guitar sound like it was crying for everybody that he had ever
lost. I watch at least ten people dry the tears from their eyes. –To me,
Ghost In The Hills was the most incredible song that poured out of his guitar.
Listen to it. Bluegrass and a little soul. Fucked up, different, and complicated.
That is why I loved it.

I asked Adrian’s wife, Diane, how he was able to move his fingers so quickly.
She laughed and said, “I think it is good oiling.” If you haven’t
met her, she is the very nice lady selling Guitar Bones cd’s and handing
out postcards. –So you heard it here first. Good oiling may make you play
a better guitar. Shows how much I know about the technical side of the guitar
doesn’t it? -It doesn’t matter. Adrian Legg blew me away. It was
an honor and a privilege to hear Adrian Legg live in such a cozy venue. The
fans felt very close to him. When he was finished, he received a standing ovation-the
standing ovation was so long that you could swear that we had just listened
to him in Carnegie Hall and not The Red Light Café in Atlanta, Georgia.
–After the concert, twenty people asked me if they could get a copy of
him on stage. That blew me away. I have been with the boss on several shoots,
and nobody ever asks. After the concert, people ran out to their cars to get
copies of cd’s for Adrian Legg to sign. Everybody that was there did not
want the evening to end. –Think about this one. It was a Monday. The Red
Light Café was filled. –and it was all for one man, Mr. Adrian
Legg. So, if you want to know if you should ever try to catch him live after
reading all of this, the answer is yes. Don’t be fucking stupid. You don’t
want to miss him when he comes to a town near you.

*MusicIncider Magazine is a wholly owned and copyrighted subsidiary of Barbara
Ann Fara Productions, Inc.*


About Author

My name is Barbara Fara. is my baby. I am a psychic and a photographer-and a writer! I am more than a little crazy, because I love taking pictures with people body surfing over my head

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