Chris Smither -- The Luminaire, London, 6/10/08

By M.D. Spenser

The guitar looks small in his hands and he plays it with the casual ease of a Vegas card dealer doing complex shuffles while chatting with a friend.

Chris Smither is one of the most delightful fingerpickers ever to pick up an acoustic guitar; his folk-Blues stylings are at the same time as intricate and as laid back as any you will hear. That in itself would be reason enough to see him but, as he showed at the Luminaire in October, it’s only the beginning of what he has to offer.

His immense catalogue of songs, written and polished over the course of his 40 years on the road, are jewels, all – each adorned with little pearls of weathered wisdom.

Take for example ‘Father’s Day’, a song he wrote recently for his own father. The concluding lines – these from a man in his 60s – are heartbreaking in their insight and their kindness: “Ain’t I done good? I needed that from you/And all I’ve got to say is, by the way, you done good too”.

And then there’s his voice, smoky and atmospheric. He seems to sing to each member of the audience in turn; you understand the songs – their pathos and their wisdom – in more richness that can be communicated by CD alone.

He’s contemplative, but he can rock, too: He did a rollicking version of his most commercially successful song, ‘Love You Like A Man’, covered as ‘Love Me Like A Man’ by 15 singers from Bonnie Raitt to Diana Krall.

He finished with ‘Leave The Light On’, about how at 64 he still has more to do. He was just one man with an acoustic guitar but when the last chord died the audience rose of one accord and roared.

For an encore, Smither ended where he began, with his laid-back picking to the fore. He did Blind Willie McTell’s ‘Statesboro Blues’, played as a guitar piece of dazzling complexity that seemed as easy for him as humming a tune down by the riverside on a lazy summer day.

Magic.

Little Toby Walker -- The Anvil, Basingstoke, 14/09/08

By M.D. Spenser

The fine American Blues guitarist Little Toby Walker brought his entire band to the show in Basingstoke and, as musicians do, he introduced the members to the audience.

There was his thumb, the bass player; his middle two fingers, the rhythm section; and his index finger on lead guitar. And an excellent band it was – one of the best one-hand bands you’ll ever see. Walker’s picking is quick, rhythmic, Bluesy and most of all great fun.

He is more than anything a highly skilled entertainer. He leavens his show with hilarious anecdotes and knows how to involve an audience: a crowd that started out quiet and wary soon found itself singing lustily. “Oh, I just turned you into Blues singers!” Walker exclaimed.

And his repertoire, a mix of classics and sparkling originals, is heavy on amusing sexual innuendo. ‘Big Meat Shakin’ On The Bone’ celebrates the joys of larger women. And ‘Your Buggy Don’t Ride Like Mine’, a traditional number, doesn’t have much to do with going down the road: “Don’t get mad/Your buggy don’t ride like mine/I got an easy ridin’ buggy/It makes me go baby all the time”. Suffice it to say that the singer rides his buggy at every opportunity.

His instrumentals are every bit as entertaining: Walker mixes a walking bass, sassy fingerpicking and a delightful slide to great effect.

He covers artists from Fats Waller to Hank Williams, from Muddy Waters to Rev. Gary Davis, but makes each song his own.

At times, Walker’s voice can seem a bit one-dimensional, though his singing is always exuberant. But his finale, a highly personalised version of Blind Willie Johnson’s ‘Nobody’s Fault But Mine’, was movingly sung – bone-chilling in its acceptance of life’s choices and their consequences.

Walker is a master showman; by the end of the night, the audience was not just watching the show but had become part of it. And that suited Walker just fine.

“Music”, he explained, “is far too important to be left in the hands of professionals”. An evening with him shows you just how right he is.

Eric Bibb -- Birmingham Town Hall, 31/5/08

By M.D. Spenser

There is something about Eric Bibb that cannot be captured on record, as he proved again with this extraordinary concert at Birmingham Town Hall.

Yes, his albums are good. But he’s one of the greatest live musicians in any genre.

And as for genres, Bibb is a master of many.

He began with a spine-tingling rendition of ‘Goin’ Down Slow’, the old Blues about a man anticipating death. Standing alone, the band not yet on stage, Bibb exhibited his extraordinary skills as a guitarist and singer.

From there, he moved to a cover of ‘The Cape’, by the great folk writer, Guy Clark.

Then he toured his own stellar catalogue, which is replete with Blues – he’s a Bluesman at heart – folk, and house-rockin’ gospel.

“Let’s raise the roof,” he exhorted as he sang the spiritual ‘Needed Time’. And the audience eagerly complied.

His show is perfectly paced, with just the right ebb and flow, a kaleidoscope of tone and texture.

He whoops and hollers, and through his special kinship with listeners inspires them to do the same, particularly on the gospel numbers. Then he drops down to beautiful, shimmering folk.

His singing is so wonderful, his songwriting so accomplished, that his guitar gets short shrift. But he’s a masterful acoustic player, making the difficult seem easy and graceful.

He sang a few duets with his daughter, Yana Bibb, a fine singer as well. There wasn’t a duff number in the set.

At one point, Bibb sang the spiritual he called ‘Hold On’, which is known by most people as ‘Eyes On The Prize’. He heard it done by The Weavers long ago. When a Blues musician does a jazzy take on a spiritual he learned from a folk group – well, you start to understand Bibb’s genius in melding many styles into one.

At the end of the show, he left ’em yelling for more. He’s a former busker who built his career one listener at a time. Go to one of his shows – don’t miss it, whatever you do – and give him a chance to work his magic on you.

Lizz Wright -- Soho Revue Bar, London, 21/4/08

By M.D. Spenser

Lizz Wright walked on stage slowly, regally, eyes downcast, hugging herself, almost oblivious to the audience. Then, from deep within herself, she thrilled the Soho Revue Bar with some of the finest singing to be heard anywhere today.

Her voice is a rich and vibrant instrument, capable of rattling the rafters one minute and conveying great subtlety the next.

Wright was pegged early as a jazz singer, but her repertoire encompasses Blues, folk, gospel and more. It’s a strength for which she needlessly apologized: “If you wonder why my music is all over the place,” she said, “it’s just too much fun to keep to the rules and stay locked into one concept.”

She ranged from the soft beauty of ‘Stop’, which deviated jazzily from the recorded version, to the slow-burning soul of ‘Hit The Ground’, sung to make the listener believe every word: “You’re gonna make it somehow.”

The band – keyboard, guitar, bass, drums – was atmospheric, supporting Wright’s voice, never competing with it.

On “My Heart,” the bassist rendered perfectly a heartbeat. On ‘Song For Mia’, about losing one’s sadness in the eternity of the sea, the keyboards were wonderful and ocean-like.

The entire performance was augmented by the fantastic backup singing of Gina Breedlove, an artist in her own right.

Two of the show’s highlights: the Ike Turner song, ‘I Idolize You’, as sexy a blues as you could ever want, and a scorching rendition of the self-penned hit-the-road song, ‘Leave Me Standing Alone’.

Through it all, Wright sang with eyes closed, caressing herself, sometimes wrapping herself inside a shawl. This is both her strength and her weakness as a live performer.

On the one hand, as she matures she will learn to reach out to an audience and draw them in – even, now and then, to make eye contact. But on the other hand, looking inside herself is what her art is all about. Not a word falls from her lips without having first been filtered through her soul.

To be allowed to participate in that most private of journeys is a privilege and a joy.

Mavis Staples -- The Barbican, London, 15/4/08

By M.D. Spenser

Ill with a throat infection, Mavis Staples, a consummate entertainer, pranced across The Barbican stage, lifted people up, inspired them and left them yelling until their own throats were sore.

Staples found her greatest fame as lead singer of the Staples Singers in the ’60s and ’70s. But, even as she approaches her 69th birthday, she’s no oldies act.

The bulk of her set was from her 2007 release, “We’ll Never Turn Back”, an album of funked-up civil rights songs produced by Ry Cooder. And great stuff it is – heavy on the bass, heavy on the beat, topped by Staples’ superlative R&B phrasing, which is guaranteed to get you out of your seat.

Still, the announcement that she was sick caused concern. But no need.

“They tried to make me stay in the hotel,” Staples hollered. “I said, ‘No! I want to see my people!’”

She had a mission: “We want to bring you some joy tonight, inspire you if you’re feeling down, give you a reason to get up in the morning.” And that’s just what she did.

Her material doesn’t plumb the loneliness of the inner self; it’s about facing life with faith and happiness.

“Ain’t gonna let nobody turn me round,” she sang as the bass pounded and the three backup singers made a joyful noise.

Staples looks wonderful – handsome face, immaculate hair, broad smile, great moves.

At first, her voice was barely audible. But as the evening progressed, she drew strength from her audience; her voice, far from fading, grew into its normal self. My goodness, she gives the impression she’s having a good time.

She did a couple of old Staples Singers numbers – ‘Respect Yourself’ and ‘I’ll Take You There’ – and there’s something moving about hearing Mavis herself perform them in person.

But she’s immersed in the present and looking toward the future. “We’ve been taking you there for 58 years,” she shouted. “Five-eight! And we ain’t tired yet!” Then she kicked off her high heels, danced up a storm, sang her heart out, and proved it.

Bettye LaVette -- Jazz Café, London, 13/04/08

By M.D. Spenser

No one can put over a song like Bettye LaVette, the greatest unheralded soul singer in the world. And the incomparable Ms LaVette proved that again at the Jazz Café.

Slinky in black silk pantsuit, she strutted and danced, her songs a defiant assertion of who she is. “So proud I was built this way,” she sang in ‘The Battle Of Bettye LaVette’, a song about how, uncompromising as she was, she sang 40 years “before the money started rolling in.”

She sang of triumph and tragedy, but with not an ounce of self-pity. In ‘Choices’, she took the blame for all that’s gone wrong: “I’m living and dying by the choices I’ve made.”

The song had this reviewer near tears _ and apparently LaVette, as well.

She feels a song totally, emphasizing each word, her soulful voice cracking with emotion.

But this is soul, performed with a hard-driving band, and lots of dancing by LaVette. Man, can she get an audience worked up.

She makes eye contact with a listener, gestures, pleads, then writhes away across the stage. She is one of the few 62-year-olds who can get away with pelvic thrusts.

And her voice is one of the most expressive instruments in soul, conveying victory, despair and love. On “You’ll Never Change”, another defiant expression of self, she dropped the microphone and filled the room with her voice.

She makes no attempt to hide her age. Noting that she was finally nominated for a Grammy this year, she joked that she was older than the award itself.

She first recorded in 1962, at 16, scoring the hit ‘My Man’. But major success eluded her until the 2005 album, “I’ve Got My Own Hell To Raise”.

To say LaVette has lost nothing over the years would not be right. On the contrary, she has gained.

Her records, fabulous as they are, cannot convey the emotion she does in person. All her life experience is poured into each word. She can put over a song down to her silver-painted toenails.

Everyone should see a Bettye LaVette show at least once.