Sharing the same name with a certain “shoeless” baseball player, Joe Jackson has probably suffered a time or two from an identity crisis. For this Mr. Joe Jackson, the English singer-songwriter, composer, and pianist, he’s probably fine that his otherwise common name provides him a sense of creative freedom.
I usually don’t go to concerts by myself, but sometimes curiosity gets the best of me. And last winter, Jessica Sonner was a major curiosity of mine. Having listened to her music via her MySpace page for a few days, I was hooked; and luckily for me, she was coming to town. So while my wife worked a night shift, I saw her play an early set at Off Broadway in St. Louis, and I was gratefully rewarded with an intimate performance. It was just her and an acoustic, one that had been damaged on the plane the day before. She seemed concerned about it, and I don’t blame her – for most songwriters, a certain guitar is irreplaceable. Sonner seemed no different.
A few years ago, my long distance friend and fellow music-obsessed freak set me up on an aural blind date. Considering that Andy had introduced me to and received frank feedback from me on a number of potential gentleman suitors (Joseph Arthur, Mason Jennings, Jesse Malin) by that point in time, he had a right to be confident – alright, overly confident – that this blind date would result in a long lasting relationship.
