**DISCLAIMER** My head’s still a little muddled after all the excitement so this blog post won’t be my best work. Expect fangirlishness aplenty, pictures in place of text and overuse of exclamation marks.
My growing obsession admiration for Mayer Hawthorne has been well-documented in my blog, Posterous and Twitter feed. I’ve loved – nay, ADORED – his music since the first time I heard Just Ain’t Gonna Work Out and have waxed lyrical about the following since:
1. His geeky specs. I’m a sucker for a guy with thick-framed glasses.
2. His voice – he sings like his larynx has been dipped in caramel and hot fudge sauce. Reminds me of an ice cream sundae (but most desserts don’t make my knees wobbly).
3. His general awesomeness – he played all the instruments when recording his debut album A Strange Arrangement. Which is just awesome.
Also, he’s really cute.
So you can imagine my excitement when I heard that the man himself would be playing at the Queen of Hoxton in Whoreditch. I marked the date on my Google Calendar and everything. See:
You’d think, with the sophistication of my reminder techniques, I’d get hold of a ticket before they’d sold out. I didn’t. And I nearly cried. But thanks to the power of Twitter (and my Fairy Godmothers – you know who you are) my name made it’s way on to the guestlist for the show last Thursday.
So, after whole hours of stressing about what to wear (I wore my pink Lipsy dress, if you’re interested) and wondering how I’d approach him without blurting “LET ME BEAR YOUR CHILDREN”, I finally resolved to speak to him when I saw him. I mean, if critics are anything to go by Mayer Hawthorne is going to be big soon. I might not have the chance to approach him again without being batted aside by fifteen bodyguards.
Believe it or not, the perfect opportunity arose after the show (he sounds uh-MAZING live). Stu, incidentally the one who introduced me to Mayer Hawthorne, waited patiently with me until the club cleared. Then there he was. In t-shirt and trainers, packing up the keyboard on stage. I’d love to say that I played it cool but according to Stu I was “blinking like a psycho”. Humph. When my hands stopped trembling I strolled over to say hello (and didn’t trip in my massive platforms – WIN) and introduced myself – we’ve talked a few times on Twitter, dont’cha know.
And this is where I can’t write anything without sounding like a dopey fangirl (“Like, OMG he touched my FACE”). We chatted a little about London, vinyls, his show and I managed to avoid dribbling which is always a bonus. He was incredibly charming. Disarmingly so, in fact – I certainly wasn’t prepared for it – and recognised me off Twitter. He even signed a vinyl for Stu’s friend:
And he posed for a picture with me! Ignore my silly closed eyes and look at how cute he is instead! Look, that’s his hand! ON ME!
I’ve heard that you shouldn’t meet the people that you look up to because they’ll always disappoint. But Mayer Hawthorne didn’t. He was polite, charming and friendly. I love that he packed up his own equipment after the show (as opposed to snorting lines of coke off a supermodel’s thigh, or something). I love that he’s quite clearly all about the music. And I can’t wait until he’s back in the UK to perform again.