Amy Winehouse is big on old-style glamour and sophistication. Before she makes an entrance, her name is projected against a blue velvet curtain at the back of a lamp-lit stage. Her all-male backing band are ruggedly handsome and sharply-attired in stylishly-finished black suits.
Arriving on stage, she cuts a peculiar figure: dwarfed by her bandmates, skinny to the point of near-invisibility, she sports a wonderfully ornate hairstyle that would make Marge Simpson’s 'do look like a short back-and-sides.
She’s also a touch shy and inhibited. At times, her lack of stage presence makes the (admittedly sumptuous) noises onstage feel like background music at a large social event.
But let’s not be too harsh. Winehouse’s air of slightly tipsy nervousness is quite charming, and for the most part her vocals are a luxurious, semi-drunken delight. The show has a rich, warm ambience that does not let up, and a handful of tracks – mainly from her more-celebrated second album – threaten to steer the evening towards legendary status.
‘Tears Dry On Their Own’ is the first stab at greatness – a rousing, swelling slice of old-style soul gorgeousness, that elicits a jubilant crowd reaction.
A little later, Winehouse and her band manage an exquisite segue into Lauryn Hill’s ‘Doo Wop (That Thing)’, a respectful nod to the artist she has effectively replaced as the coffee-table R&B favourite du jour.
My own favourite number (though certainly not the biggest crowd favourite) was ‘Some Unholy War’: a slice of deliciously smoky late-night jazz, which boasts a pleasing choppy-guitar feel in its outro.
In a similar vein, ‘Back To Black’ has an infectious, jaunty piano bounce, while ‘Me & Mr. Jones (Fuckery)’ is irresistibly cool, with a wonderfully rolling rhythm.
The familiar strains of ‘Rehab’ inevitably elicit the warmest crowd reaction – justifiably, too, as it remains a thing of sassy, hip-shaking magnificence.
In between these peaks, the show bubbled along. Winehouse has what it takes to achieve greatness as a live performer, but she isn’t there yet. Hey, she’s learning her trade. Give her time.