Last evening at the Sprint Center, the lead singer changed into four different outfits. More than a couple of times, the band transported itself to the stage via elevator risers through trap doors. The show also featured a number of multimedia elements; at one point, everyone in the band exited the stage, and a moody, faux-noir video was shown. The word "dame" was used. Later on, a performance was accompanied by video projection consisting of three full minutes of the lead singer humorlessly swinging a lasso. Cold, blue, tumultuous clouds passed quickly in the background.
All are normally grounds for exaggerated eye rolls, but not at a Sade show. At a Sade show, you sit there with intermittent goose bumps for two straight hours and marvel at the fact that a person as graceful, elegant, talented and beautiful as Sade Adu even exists on this planet, and you learn to love that shit.
I am less eager to make excuses for opener
John Legend. He found his niche a long time ago, and to his credit, he executes his Starbucks-soul thing pretty well. Like Sade, he's blessed with beauty, but he leans a little too much on it. When I walked in, he was removing his light summery jacket with vigor. He tossed it behind him. Big crowd response. He brought a special lady up onstage to dance with him. "I just need one young lady," he said, scanning the front rows. He found one, danced semi-seductively with her, gave her a rose, sang "Happy Birthday" to her and sent her on her way. The songs he played -- among them, "P.D.A. (We Just Don't Care)," "Slow Dance," "Everybody Knows," "Green Light" -- were a mix of Motown lite and Luther Vandross R&B influences. Clean, inoffensive and performed capably by a 10-piece band. Legend is charming, no doubt about it. But I just can't get behind the cheese he's laying down. It would probably be kind of weird if I did.
A long, black curtain was draped over the better part of the stage as Sade's people prepped for the performance. After about a half-hour, Bob Marley's "Three Little Birds" came over the PA, louder than the songs that preceded it. As the song faded out, the place went black. Images of a storm in a desert were flung up onto the curtain. There was lightning, the sounds of thunder, the score of a suspenseful scene in a film. Then the curtain was wisked away, up into the rafters, like a bullfighter lifting his cape -- darkness again.
Then came the first notes of "Soldier of Love," the title track of Sade's 2010 record. Then I noticed a light on the floor at the center of the stage. Then Sade, who looks exactly the same as she did 20, or even 30, years ago, emerged out of a trap-door opening wearing all black with her hair pulled back. She ascended the steps slowly and confidently. Behind her, an eight-piece band rose elevator-style through the trap doors, everybody in black. The drive of the music gained momentum, then cooled. Sade turned around with military precision, her back to the crowd. Lights low, she stood perfectly still for five seconds. Then the song picked up again, and she turned back around. Lights back on Sade. Back to center stage, up to the microphone. Seven or so minutes later, as the song -- which, live, was truly epic, far more powerful and vibrant than it sounds on record -- came to its moody instrumental close, Sade again stood perfectly still upfront, nodding her head every two seconds on the beat. Then she turned her head toward stage right and kept the beat, kept bobbing her head slowly. Then back facing center stage, same thing. Then stage left. Then back to center. Never moving her body. On the last note of the song, she gave us a quiet, dignified salute, and again the stage went black.
It was a breathtaking marriage of music and choreography, borderline religious for me, and it went on more or less all night. Sade played something like 23 songs from her catalog of mournful, soulful, smooth jazz music. Many of those songs possess similar characteristics: dark, soaring sax intros and sultry, ethereal vocals. That might have gotten same-y over the course of the night had she not been backed by a lively band (the sax player/guitarist was particularly explosive) or if she hadn't had the foresight to hire a crew of people who know how to execute a first-class light and projection show. The big takeaway of the evening: It is possible to do a big-time, high-budget arena show without being overly glitzy, opulent or pandering. But probably only if you're working with Sade.
A white, translucent curtain dropped down at the front of the stage for a few songs, separating us slightly from Sade and the band, and adding mood. By that point, she was wearing a silver gown, and her hair was down. There was a subtle wind machine blowing on her. She looked like an apparition. On "Jezebel," she sat at the foot of the stage and ended the song with a mournful bellow, the kind that can only come from a very real place inside a person. (Sade's voice is well-preserved; maybe a touch thinner these days, but not enough to ever really matter.) The reaction to "Is It a Crime?" was a spontaneous roar throughout the crowd and, ultimately, a standing ovation.
"By Your Side" ended things on a more upbeat note. Confetti, and not the cheap kind, sprinkled out from above the stage. The song didn't really fit the mood of the evening, but after all those deadly serious love songs, I am happy to indulge Sade in a little joy. She then took the time to graciously introduce us to her band ("the troops," she called them) sans musical accompaniment. They all walked to the front of the stage and bowed, and the lights went out. Then one by one the band reappeared, and they started in on "Cherish the Day."
By now, Sade had changed into her final outfit, a long pink, shiny dress with a red jacket over it. On the second verse, we watched as she slowly rose from the stage, standing on a mechanically propelled platform. Higher and higher she went, rounding out at about 25 feet in the air. The projection screen behind her was all cityscapes and skyscrapers. You show me how deep love can be, she sang, towering over us, magnificent, gorgeous, otherwordly. As the song neared its conclusion, she was lowered back to the floor. She walked forward and once again saluted us, then she turned around and descended the trap-door steps, down into the basement of the stage, taking her time, all class, nobody's fool.
Soldier of Love
Your Love Is King
Skin
Kiss of Life
Love Is Found
In Another Time
Smooth Operator
Jezebel
Bring Me Home
Is It a Crime?
Love Is Stronger Than Pride
All About Our Love
Paradise
Nothing Can Come Between Us
Morning Bird
King of Sorrow
Sweetest Taboo
The Moon and the Sky
Pearls
No Ordinary Love
By Your Side
ENCORE
Cherish the Day
like
dislike
