When I pulled up outside The Red Lion at Turners Hill on Monday I had no idea what to expect, but had been promised by Martin that I would get off on both artists. For me The Red Lion has a really wonderful atmosphere. It's a bit rustic up atop the spiral staircase, but that doesn't detract from its ambience. The room was full of a pale golden light from the sunset through the window, slightly ajar and with the light, warm breeze which gently moved the curtain almost imperceptibly, came the countryside sounds from outside (which were later to interfere with Steve Tilston's between song ditties!). But even though everything I have just described was… a little Nirvanic, it was nothing compared to what were about to be presented. 

It kicked of with Steve's daughter, Martha and…Whew! But before I carry on I would like to recommend you to check this link and if it turns you on, download a free download of an album of Martha's musical poetry. And if you've got you broadband connection fired up, you can do it now! It only takes a short while. I cannot recommend this music highly enough and it take me back and makes me feel like I was back at the gig...

...Martha settled down, checking things out, accompanied by Tim Cottrell on mandolin and fiddle, and Martha playing acoustic guitar herself. She kicked into her first number and it was just like flicking a switch and instantly I had connected. Isn't that a wonderful feeling when that happens? It doesn't often happen at concerts even though the music may be brilliant. Martha has a sweet, gentle voice, notes flow out of her mouth unstressed but full of character and have a delicious vibrato at the end of the phrasing. The world she takes you to when you listen which is unlocked by her music… is full of profundity and beautiful detail. I was a little uncertain when the first number (Frisbee) started, but by the time Martha had reached the end of the song I was hooked and I was hooked to the very end of the set! 

This young woman hits the spot! I haven't heard it yet but I but her album "Bimbling" is probably just as good. Songs performed were; Winter Flowers, A Surf Boy Courted Me, Artificial, Musical Moon, Falcon, and Firefly. What a wonderful start to the proceedings, and then… 

Steve Tilston came on with his acoustic guitar and accompanying him was Chris Parkinson on accordion, mouth harp, harmonica and assorted ditties. It kicked off and the first number took off like 747 from Gatwick and by the end of the number, again, I was airborne. 

Steve's songs were mostly his own and painted colourful pictures in your mind whilst listening to his guitar handiwork. He was a great picker, an original in my opinion and uses his instrument to project percussion, albeit subtle but clear and accentuated by colourful flourishes with sweet melodies from picked strings. 

He did a fair bit of traditional folk oriented music and didn't hog the stage as was evident when Chris did one of several solo spots giving us Songs by Victor Silvestre and a "94% perfect" rendition of the late Larry Adler's theme song from the post-war film comedy, Genevieve, on harmonica (I personally think it was 97%, but hey!) 

The songs came pouring out and the audience gave Steve a thunderous ovation at the end of each number. I could have listened much longer and I wouldn't mind betting the audience could have done the same. But unfortunately this blissed- out feeling is finite and all great things have to come to an end. I hope they are back soon, the blissed-out feeling and… (those wonderful Tilston persons together with a Parkinson person)…and I expect you will as well. 

Songs performed were; Here Comes The Night, Rare Thing, The Streams Of Lovely Nancy, And So It Goes, The Golden Tango, The Salty Dog, (Martin Said ?), Going To The West, Rambling Comber, Since My Bird Has Flyed Away, Cup Of Coffee, Loving Hannah, (Anthony Believe?), Genevieve, Willow Creek, Old Tam, The Girl I Left Behind Me segueing into Elizabethan Serenade, Dewy Ones segueing into Never On A Sunday, The Leaving Of LiverpoolChain.

Review courtesy of Bob Preece