Review: Beth Hart, Colston Hall

Beth Hart’s last Bristol gig was a sell out and the Colston was packed again when she rolled in to town in support of her latest waxing Fire on the Floor. Our designated support act Colin James (straight outta Vancouver) is a fella who’s been playing blues & swing based music since the late eighties – to both critical and commercial acclaim. He’s eighteen albums deep in to his career, but was last here in the UK in 1991 (supporting Robert Plant no less and if memory serves, delivered an incendiary set at the Newport Leisure Centre date). No band for this slot, just accompaniment from Chris Cadell, (guitar, backing vox and an awesome MC5 afro) the pair seated amongst an array of acoustic and electric instruments used to delightful effect as they entertained with a vigorous blues set. Swapping between acoustics, electrics and resonators to provide light and shade; fine picking; sweet solos; boisterous bottle neck and, from James in particular, stinging lead – especially on set closer Keep On Loving Me Baby.

The set was eclectic, covers reinvented amongst the originals: Van’s Into the Mystic stripped back Celtic blues; Travelling Riverside Blues skittering and urgent and Sam Cooke’s Somebody Have Mercy rendered as a rollicking blues. This was a great heart-warming set, the pair revelling in their skills and clearly enjoying their own playing and the delighted audience’s reaction. He mentioned after the show he’d acquired a British agent, let’s hope James is back soon. Oh and James is a damn decent bloke too having invented the CP Holiday Train, which travels around North America “…raising money, food and awareness for food banks and hunger issues, hosting free holiday concerts along the way. Since 1999 the program has raised more than $12 million and 3.9 million pounds of food”. What a Gent.

Somewhat unconventionally Beth Hart kicked off the show from the stalls – band on stage her vocals could be heard before the crowd realised she was at the back of the hall equipped with a radio mic, little black dress and killer red heels. She strode through the thrilled crowd singing More Than Ever as she posed for selfies, paused for high fives and managed to shake hands and groove with a number of, frankly, ecstatic fans who were left with palpitations and grins the size of Chernobyl watermelon slices. Mounting the stage Hart and her super tight three piece plunged into a fan friendly eclectic set of material old and new.

It would be easy to just praise Hart for her voice, because to be frank she can sing – sonorous yet tender, jazz phrasing with a rock sensibility and powerful: her off mic scatting and ad libbing audible throughout the stalls, but she’s an accomplished musician too. Her work on the keys was excellent throughout, underpinning the songs, embellishing the tunes and taking leads – often taking it to the Church with gospel tones and delightfully authentic honky tonk too. She picked up an acoustic for The Ugliest House on the Block (amongst others) a warm bitter sweet rendition. Hart’s band were more than able – swinging, technically adept and yet with a casual demeanour belying their ability. Guitarist Jon Nichols underplayed subtly but cut loose with some scorching lead work and hefty riffing too, a player comfortable to support the songs without ego. The rhythm section (bassist Bob Marinelli, and drummer Bill Ransom) were tight throughout, giving the up-tempo numbers the requisite swing and groove, but subtle on the slower cuts, and they excelled on the eminently danceable Let’s Get Together (Mrs.Hart senior’s favourite apparently).

Anyone familiar with Hart will know her back story and as is her wont she delivered plenty of background on the genesis of the material; stories of family disputes; struggles with addiction and the travails of mental illness – all are grist for her song writing and she’s produced a strong body of work that connects intimately with her crowd, word perfect on every tune and supportive throughout. Particularly supportive when Hart was overcome with emotion describing a stay in hospital – charitably her tears were for fellow patients rather than herself – as she introduced Tell ‘em to Hold On.

Tell Her You Belong to Me was a massive tune, if you were unaware of Hart’s abilities as a writer you’d be convinced that this was a Spooner and Oldham deep cut unearthed by Hart rather than an original. On the record it’s a string-drenched powerhouse; live shorn of the embellishments it’s a belter that hits you right in the heart. Coca Cola was a sultry paean to teenage lust whilst Fat Man (with a profane and accurate dedication to President Elect Trump) was raw & blistering proving she’s capable of lyrics that stretch beyond personal politics to the wider world. The set list acted as a guide as Hart dropped material and chopped the running order around to suit her mood and the crowd reaction. Perched on the edge of the stage or at the keys she was mesmerising and back in the crowd mid set eliciting more fan euphoria.

As the curfew was breached Hart finished the main set with We’re Still Living in the City dedicated to her manager / husband (who was vainly trying to end the set) and then it was encore time. I’d Rather Go Blind is oft covered, but Hart and band fashioned an impassioned blues out of the tune, breathing new life in to the cut and avoiding the overwrought clichéd over-sung versions so popular with reality TV divas. That left Hart to finally end the set with a beautifully rendered a capella As Long as I Have a Song – her mantra, her therapy and her raison d’être (evident in the lyrics but emphasised by her introduction). This was a show full of emotion, the soul baring was raw and genuine and in the wrong hands could easily have slipped in to cliché or self-serving saccharine sentimentality but Hart is the real thing. Her personal struggles have defined her and defined her music and the end result is an assured performer who connects totally with her crowd and her pain has given her an enviable oeuvre that she never fails to deliver with passion, commitment, humour and grace.

All pix John Morgan