Blunt struggles to find his groove
James Blunt/Sarah Blasko
 
The Paradise, Boston, Massachusetts
November 4, 2005

by Marc Hirsh

[photos taken by Marc Hirsh]

originally published in The Boston Globe, November 7, 2005

He has been here

With a debut album that went to #1 in his native U.K. and has sold more copies this year than any other artist not named Coldplay, James Blunt could easily have viewed Friday’s sold-out show at the Paradise as a simple extension of his British success. But Back To Bedlam had been out in the U.S. for barely four weeks, less time than it spent atop the British charts, and his performance and the reception he received revealed a singer still in the process of winning over his audience.

He seemed to be mostly successful, though the effort wasn’t without difficulties. Possessed of a high, tremulous voice reminiscent of Simply Red’s Mick Hucknall and John Ondrasik of Five For Fighting and backed by a five-piece band adept at acoustic adult pop, Blunt touched on all of Bedlam. The material seemed designed to wring as much sensitivity out of him as possible, and there were times when it was overwhelming, with “Cry” rewriting the sentiment of “You’ve Got A Friend” with a febrile poesy and “No Bravery” alternating clunkily specific wartime imagery with a maddeningly vague “He has been here” refrain.

That was one of two songs Blunt performed solo on keyboard, and despite (or because of) his warnings that they would make the audience miserable, the noisy chatter was enough for him to stop “Goodbye My Lover” altogether and shoot a death glare into the crowd before restarting the song from scratch. He got back on track with the midtempo organ ballad “Tears And Rain,” and his cover of “Where Is My Mind?” worked surprisingly well without the Pixies’ crazed delivery or ear-split electric guitar. But if Blunt has come quite a ways from his last Boston visit a few months ago, which he claimed was attended by about 25 people, it was clear that he can’t take his overseas popularity for granted.

Australian singer Sarah Blasko opened the show with her own fragile compositions, sung in a throaty drawl that could swerve into a Thom Yorke wail. She also scrapped a particularly delicate song in the middle but was more circumspect about it, acknowledging that it was less appropriate for the chatty atmosphere than the louder, loop-oriented one that replaced it.

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