My husband Scott and I shlepped last night down to the Peninsula (as in San Jose area) to hear Richard Thompson perform. I might have kvetched about how long the drive was, how tired I was, yet from the opening chord of his first song, I was riveted. It’s remarkable to watch a master at the peak of his craft. Thompson doesn’t play music — he is music, not to mention a one man band. I have never heard a guitarist make at least five instruments out of one.

I got the feeling that even though Thompson is a great showman, he is really playing for himself, for his inner muse. Which might explain why I’ve never heard him play a song the same way twice. He mixes things up so he remains engaged.
The man is funny, soulful, and wildly talented. And, like the greatest of artists, embodies what it means to be fully alive.