I’m sitting in the main room of the London Music Club with about 40 other folkies, awaiting the songs of Daniel Champagne. He’s from Australia, and clearly well thought of:
“Daniel Champagne exudes a natural ease onstage, as he sings poignant lyrics and beautifully crafted melodies that invariably whisk the heart up with grand romanticism. Coupled with an exhilarating guitar talent that transcends mere acoustic playing to replicate a whole band, Champagne is just magical.”
Wow. I want to meet this guy. And now five folks have joined me at our table for six. I don’t know them. They’re all friends. Plus they’re all friendly. The way life should be.
Daniel smiles his way to the microphone and starts hitting his guitar with a whirl of hands – one sound on the wooden back, another on the neck, and an atonal strumming of strings way up by the tuning pegs. And it’s all amplified! Almost like gunshots. I’ve never heard anything like it.
Often Daniel jumps up and down as he plays, and stomps his feet. Then he’ll hoist the guitar skyward, the strings vertical. He’ll look way up and still crank out the melodies. My jaw dropped, again and again.
Daniel wrote a song called Nightingale. One time he was playing it at a venue in Australia. A woman who was at the concert wrote him later that the chorus of that song inspired her to go home and tell her boyfriend for the first time that she loved him. Years later, Daniel sang the song as she walked up the aisle on her wedding day. Lovely.
Sometimes when he played for us, Daniel would twist a tuning peg to gradually change the note of a string, and then start singing in that new key. Often I couldn’t hear the words but his whole body seemed to exude joy – the voice forced itself into my mind while his head and body jerked here and there. Getting the lyrics wasn’t important.
Daniel’s grandmother liked drinking and partying. His friends loved partying with her. And she loved Don McLean, the American songwriter who penned American Pie. Daniel sang us another of Don’s songs – Vincent, an ode to the painter Vincent van Gogh. When he sang “This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you,” I melted. Lost in the moment.
Mr. Champagne was just so darned alive, and all six of us felt it. As did the rest of the audience, judging by the standing ovation that he received. Often the music was quirky, the guitar playing outrageous, and the words unknown, but Daniel truly entertained us. We were in the presence of a full human being.