It Was Like Being Served an Exquisite Meal

We met Raymond and Sarah after our Liverpool show.

Sarah was wearing the most fabulous shoes.

Fabulous for looking fabulous.

Slightly less fabulous for climbing the very steep stairs out of the auditorium.

So, as my grandmother used to say, I told her:

“Grab a wing, chicken.”

And up we went, arm in arm.

By the time we reached the lobby, a little group had gathered near the statue of John Lennon, and we spent a good long while talking with people about the show.

What they felt.

What surprised them.

What stayed with them.

Then Raymond put his hand on my shoulder and said:

“You know what that was like?

It was like being served an exquisite meal.”

That one stuck with me.

Partly because it’s a beautiful compliment.

And partly because I think he was absolutely right.

An exquisite meal doesn’t just happen.

Someone imagines it first.

Then plans it.

Changes it.

Changes it again.

The room has to be right. The ingredients have to be right. Everything has to be prepared with care.

Some things are chopped and stirred.

Some things need to marinate.

Some need to simmer for hours.

And some of the most important parts take the longest because they can’t be rushed.

Then comes the timing.

When does this arrive?

When does that leave the table?

When do you let people breathe?

When do you surprise them?

Too fast and you lose the moment.

Too slow and the energy disappears.

That’s the art of it.

You can plan all you want, but eventually there comes a point where you stop looking at the recipe and simply know when something feels right.

And then, if everything comes together...

At the end of the evening, it isn’t just your belly that feels full.

Something else does too.

Your emotions.

Your senses.

Maybe even your soul.

For a little while, everything feels exactly where it belongs.

And that feeling stays with you.

Not just as a memory, but almost as a place.

Somewhere you can return to.

I think that’s what Raymond was talking about.

And honestly, it’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me about Vox Lumiere.

Because all the chopping, stirring, marinating, simmering, changing, rehearsing, hauling, fixing and occasionally panicking...

...is done for one reason.

So that when the lights go down, you don’t see any of that.

You just get the meal.

This week we climb back aboard Ginger Joe’s magic bus for the final few dates of our first UK tour.

The table is set.

The invitations are out.

And we cannot wait to serve it.

So put on the loose-fitting pants.

Find your place card.

Dinner is almost ready.

That’s it. I’m not gonna get all mushy.

See ya,

Kevin