Is it too much to ask?

Long, long ago when I was first living in Edinburgh, having moved up 'on a whim and a prayer' to live in a cold bedsit on Dalkeith Road, I scribbled the entire lyrics to Mary Chapin Carpenter's 'Passionate kisses' in my sketchbook. The first line poses the question we must all have shouted into the dark on occasion - ' is it too much to ask?' - and continues a list of requirements including 'a comfortable bed that won't hurt my back... warm clothes and all of that stuff', culminating 'and- passionate kisses from you'. The single girl's lament; give me what I was promised, what I am due - that which my mother and society led me to believe is the minimum requirement for life. Thus began a love affair with Mary's music that finally took me to the Queen's Hall tonight to see the lady in the flesh; older, life-threatening illness later, and still, herself, the single lady of years ago. I have no qualms about my fondness for 'country' or folk music; I grew up on it and it has been the soundtrack to many a dark moment and long, questioning day. Taking Stu along was more of a worry, but I needn't have done so - plenty for the guitar anorak among an awesome selection of Nashville's (and many other state's) finest session musicians. It is always amazing to see live music, and seeing professionals of thirty-odd year's service walk through their multiple instrumental parts and harmonies is a joyous occasion for me. Great as well, in a repeat of the Joan Armatrading gig, to find such a huge, undiminished voice inside such a tiny fifty-something lady; Mary's alto live was so familiar but still caught me by surprise in its intensity and clarity. She used it well, too, in expansive between-song banter that took in Hemingway and a five-'wanker' rant about Sarah Palin. Go girl.

So there you go - another benefit of growing older in years; unapologetic love of country music and worship of ballsy female heroes who have sustained me through my own journey. It is inspiring to me to see other figures who have followed their little creative path over hurdles and pitfalls to come out a stronger individual with clear views of their own requirements from the world. Mary is, of course, a woman after my own heart with her admissions to spending her favourite time in her Virginia (Blue Ridge Mountains no less) farm with a multitude of animals, spending solitary time on the porch at twilight or cosying in her pyjamas.

The support act was also a highlight for me; Tift Merritt is another singer-songwriter of countyish persuasion although she crosses over more into the murky territory of rock/americana/dot dot dot. First saw Tift supporting Teddy Thompson in the same venue and have since become word-perfect in all of her beautiful songs, so I could mumble along tonight while worrying about her stark, vulnerable performance - purely accoustic and solo. Her songs and voice are intense and personal, so the frailty of her little figure at the guitar and piano was quite poignant when compared in retrospect to the well-oiled machine that supported Mary C C. The contrast between the two reinforced the feeling of a journey; the young songwriter just breaking through - a Grammy for 'Mixtape' on her new album (which wasn't on the set list, sadly, but would have been a bitch to do solo) and the older, wiser veteran returning to the craft she knows so well after an illness that must have scared the bollocks off her. Or, as the programme notes would have it, made her reevaluate life and learn about gratitude.

Music feeds the soul. I feel well sated after that.