YOU KNOW YOU’VE made it as a musician — at least on a critical level — when the New York Times calls your voice "a blue-eyed soul man’s supple instrument." Or when Billboard announces that you’re "the real thing, people, a star with potential to permanently affect the musical landscape and keep us entertained for years to come."
And yet despite such accolades, Martin Sexton has remained a mystifyingly small presence on the music scene since his collection of self-produced demos, In the Journey, was released in 1992. Though his ensuing albums — 1996’s Black Sheep (Eastern Front Records), 1998’s The American, and 2000’s Wonder Bar (both on Atlantic) — all won praise, and Sexton has his share of rabidly loyal fans, his name remains largely unrecognized in the mainstream music world.
It’s a shame, really. Martin Sexton arguably has one of pop, rock, and folk’s most stunningly versatile voices. Add to the mix able guitar work and heartfelt songs, and you’ve got a musician who deserves a bigger audience than he’s found thus far.
Q: When did you first know that you’d be a musician?
A: I think I was probably about nine, singing in the bathtub, making up songs, splashing the rhythms. That’s when I knew.
Q: Did you ever think you’d be able to make a living making music?
A: I dreamt about it. I remember thinking more seriously about being a musician when I was, like, 13; I had a guitar, and I used to run home from school to listen to Stevie Wonder’s Talking Book record. I just discovered that somehow or other, I think in the basement. It was my older brother’s record or something.
Q: How long did it take to go from that to finally being able to make a living making music?
A: Oh, that was a pretty long road. I guess I was just out of high school, and was working a job, and it wasn’t until I moved to Boston and I started singing on the streets, I think I was about 23, and got canned from my job at the Café de Paris on Arlington Street —
Q: Why’d you get fired?
A: Oh, I don’t know, I just didn’t really get along with the boss. They were good people, I just hated ... I basically hate work. I had been talking about, for the longest time, singing in the street and subway; I’d been meaning to do it, and this was the kick in the ass that I needed to go out and do it. I had to pay my rent.
Q: Where were you living?
A: I was living right in Coolidge Corner, in Brookline.
Q: Did you have a favorite T station to play in?
A: My favorite station was Porter Square station, from like 7 to 11 a.m. on a Thursday or Friday. Payday, you know. And then Harvard Square, outside in the warmer months at night, basically from eight to 11, was brilliant. And it was a great community of players, you know? We would watch out for one another. And I just remember it was such an inspirational time — people like Mary Lou Lord playing, Adrienne, Flathead. And we were all just like brothers, you know? And I started really writing at that time; I didn’t really have any songs, and I figured I didn’t really want to sing "Brown-Eyed Girl" for the rest of my life, so I started making things up, and actual songs started coming out of it.
Q: How different do you think your music career would have been if you hadn’t started out in Boston?
A: I think it could have been extremely different, because when I left Syracuse, I had no intention of singing on the street and being, like, a solo singer-songwriter guy; I had more intentions of just heading a rock band, singing in a rock band. I had even auditioned for a couple rock bands when I landed here, and didn’t get the jobs. Oh, jeez, I don’t know — it could’ve been very different. As I say, I didn’t know anything about singer-songwriters or guys with acoustic guitars; I knew more about funk and rock and roll. So, vastly different, if I had moved anywhere else.
Q: You seem to have finally broken out of the folk bins at record stores. How does that feel?
A: It feels good. ’Cause I think the folk bins are usually the hardest ones to find, so it feels good to show up in the, whatever they call it ... rock and pop. That’s always good. And in fact, because of where I’ve come from, and the indie background, I show up in both bins in a lot of places, which is kind of cool, because various records come from different distributorships, so it’s kind of neat, because I’ll show up in the folk bin — I think at Tower, even — I show up in the folk bin, and then it’ll say on the card, SEE ALSO POP. I dig that.
Q: Are you tired of people trying to classify and categorize your music?
A: No, I’m not tired of people trying to classify the music. I think it’s just the nature of what I do. It doesn’t really fit into one particular category. I’d like to think of it in the vein of, like, a Van Morrison: if you asked me, what does he do?, I wouldn’t really have a one-word answer. It’s everything: it’s soul, it’s rock, it’s jazz — you name it.
Q: I read that you’re not a Catholic anymore, and yet your music has a real feeling of spirituality. Where does that come from?
A: Well, culturally speaking, I’ll always be a Catholic, so there’s a lot of it in the fabric, in the fiber of my being. It’s just in there; you can’t go to church every Sunday as a kid and survive Catholic school and say the rosary after dinner every night and not have it be somewhere deep in there, in my sauce. Yeah, so it shows up. And I like it. I think it provides a rich texture for a lot of the music that I do, and it gives me a background to come from. And there were also a lot of good parts about being raised that way; it was very meat-and-potatoes, very down-to-earth, very common sense. My parents are very smart in a common-sense sort of way. Being out here on the road for years, I’ve discovered — in fact, I discover it every day; it’s sort of a pain in the ass — but common sense is not that common.
Q: A lot of people talk about your voice being a gift. Do you think of it as a gift?
A: Yeah, I think it’s a gift from my grandfather. Well, the timbre of it, and the ability of it, that sort of built-in inclination to be able to use it — talent, I guess it’s called — comes from my father and his father before him; they were both really good singers, and had that innate sense of music. So in that sense I think it’s a gift, but all the rest is work. Singing on the subway at 7 a.m. and all that, for several years.
Q: Do you ever listen to your own CDs and think, "Damn, that man can sing!"?
A: Oh, I don’t know. Sure. I mean, it’s great to be able to sing. It’s wonderful, it’s fun, I think it provides a huge amount of joy. So much of what I do is about joy, and I think that’s why people enjoy it like they do, because whenever I see an artist, anyone, even if it’s a mailman, or a plumber, and there’s joy in what they’re doing, you just like ’em more. They’re just more attractive. I do sort of step back sometimes in a live show and just groove on what I’m doing, recognize that, like, I don’t take it for granted. I recognize that this is not a normal thing, so I get this sense of gratitude for being able to do this, to share this, to get paid for this. It’s a dream come true.
Q: As someone who spends so much time on the road in the United States, how does this country feel different, post–September 11?
A: I think people are more cautious about going out, spending their dollars. That’s the only side I’ve seen of it. Well, it’s also, people seem to be more, there seems to be more of a unified base, even a spiritual side to people, and a little more emotional, too. They’re easier to get to come along with me on the choruses. They sing a little louder. And they’re showing their emotions. I’m seeing more laughter, and more tears, in the audience.
Q: Do you feel a greater responsibility now to entertain people with your music?
A: I wouldn’t say just to entertain. That’s definitely part of it. But I’ve always, from the subway days, I have always tried to just carry a message of hope, as cliché as that sounds, a message of ... I wish I could print "fuck it" —
Q: It’s the Phoenix — you can.
A: Oh, great. A message of, you know, fuck it. Fuck the job that I hate, or screw these people who are telling me that I should be doing A, B, and C, when what I’ve dreamed about as a kid is X, Y, and Z. To follow a dream, whatever the dream is. And to try to be some sort of power of example that dreams do come true, because my dreams have come true; I’m able to do this, sing and play. Fuck — what was the question?
Q: Whether you feel a greater responsibility to entertain ...
A: Oh yeah. Well, definitely, I want the show to be entertaining as well, I mean, I love being an entertainer. My show is a show. I’m not looking at my shoes during the show. I think if I came up the ranks playing at T.T.’s and the Middle East, I’d probably look at my shoes more. But I came up playing where I did, and it worked, and I don’t know, it’s just fun.
Q: Do you ever have a day without music in it at all?
A: Oh, yeah. Sometimes I go up to the woods, I go up to the Adirondacks. I got this cabin last year, and I haven’t yet brought a guitar up there, or any music. It’s kind of cool, though; I just go up and veg out in the woods, go out in the boat and get lost.
Q: Whose CDs are in your CD player right now?
A: Um, let’s see ... Ani DiFranco, "To the Teeth," Jeff Buckley, "Grace" ...
Q: You started out singing in the bathtub; do you sing in the shower now?
A: Sometimes, yeah. It sounds great in there.
Martin Sexton plays the Somerville Theatre, 55 Davis Square, in Somerville, on December 14 and 15. Call (617) 625-4088. Tamara Wieder can be reached at twieder[a]phx.com
