“Live at the Shaw”
John Martyn Live at the Shaw, is dynamite! The man was in fine voice that night, a mouthful of miraculous marbles, a-moaning future memories from a distant past, and me, unable to sit still, doing the cha-cha around the house, sailing to Martynesqe shores on a Fisherman’s Dream, getting all worked up to his Johnny To Badass self, and live, live, blasting, whispering, begging, pleading, letting it hang out like no one else can, whipping out hit after unknown hit for the faithful that night, taking them up and down mountainsides, in and out of narrow valleys, through swamps where unspeakable shit lies beneath the water, across the tundra and over the savanna of Martynland, and live, it’s the next best thing to being there, and I know you know what I mean. “But have you ever been Martynized,” I ask bewildered friends, acquaintances and strangers when rapping ’bout music. “Have you ever been Martynized?” No answer.
Don’t put these discs in you car. Oh no. On this side of the Atlantic we make a big thing out of drinking and driving. I say, no John Martyn and driving. Man, by the time he gets through Big Muff you’ll be weaving from lane to lane, and somewhere during the second disc you’ll be in a ditch, or have just wiped out a bunch of innocent evening commuters waiting for the 5:15 back home. Don’t JM and drive, oh no, this is late at night and by yourself music.
But I been playing it all the time–Live at the Shaw and And (and that’s confusing!) Those are the only discs I’ve played the last few mornings and nights, and I believe it’s driving my woman crazoul. “Glenn,” she said, “do you suppose we can listen to anything else? John Martyn is beginning to drive me crazy.” “Alright,” I replied, “you’re one of us now.” She didn’t find that amusing at all. Especially when Live came back on for the third time in a row. I think John might come between me and Nancy, but you know what man, I do believe it would be easier to find a new woman 
then a new Johnny.
Glenn Frantz
About Glenn Frantz
Glenn was born in Brooklyn, New York USA on April 2, 1949. His mother died when he was 13 years old and his teen years were in the ’60’s when he got into drugs, sex and rock ‘n roll, and also some college! Glenn had some dark times but beat the drugs and joined Synanon, a therupeutic community, in 1977, out in California.
He was a Mets fan, loved hockey, loved music and loved John Martyn ‘s music since becoming a fan in 1970. He also loved reading and writing, all kinds of art and Rumi poems. Many of Glenn’s short stories and poems have been published and he had recently written a book. Glenn had Christmas lights up in his apartment all year long….one of life’s great characters and a truly compassionate man.
Glenn died in Encinitas, California on July 1, 2003 aged 54 years. A great loss to his friends, family and the world at large.
