Sampha Soars at Brooklyn Bowl

When the Scene’s Kim Baldwin talked with U.K. R&B ace Sampha, the singer-producer-instrumentalist named an interesting slate of three dream collaborators: master minimalist composer Steve Reich, stellar songsmith Tracy Chapman and André 3000, the hip-hop hero from Outkast who made a much-buzzed-about turn to spiritual jazz with his instrumental record New Blue Sun. As fate would have it, both Sampha and Three Stacks were in town around the same time: André 3000 was set to follow his appearance at Big Ears with a surprise show at The Blue Room at Third Man Records on March 27, which ultimately was postponed due to illness. It would have been pretty incredible if André sat in during Sampha’s Good Friday show at Brooklyn Bowl — and not just for the high-profile factor, as the two artists’ work has a meditative kinship that bridges the gaps between popular music and art music. Though that wasn’t to be, the show was great on its own.

On the release tour for Lahai, Sampha’s follow-up to his 2017 debut Process, he came packing a pair of solo artists as support. I was fully unprepared for Treanne, who was up first. The 21-year-old, armed with only a keyboard and songs from her soon-to-be-released debut EP 20/20, was only onstage for about 20 minutes. But her voice was so fragile and her songs so personal, I felt almost uncomfortable — akin to the guilt from reading someone’s diary — seeing a stranger so openly bare. The simple nature of it all seemed so brave to me: There she was, laying out the rawest nerves of her soul for a thousand captivated strangers, who sat silently watching. Just the day before, she released her single “Sharing My Body,” a poignant piano ballad with more reflective poetic prowess in its dissection of a relationship than you’d expect from anyone only recently able to purchase a bottle of wine in the U.S.

During the intermission, the house lights came on unexpectedly and emergency lights flickered, while a recording with the approximate fidelity of a broken fast-food drive-thru speaker informed us the building was on fire. Nobody seemed to react, but soon enough it was clear that all was well. In a strange coincidence, the next performer — Ruthven, who plays auxiliary percussion in Sampha’s touring band and wasn’t listed on the bill — was once a firefighter in South London. On record, his somber R&B-schooled songs feature funky and proggy synth sounds, as well as some notably Prince-esque guitar solos. He stripped back much of the production for his live set, in which he played a single keyboard and a sampler he triggered by occasionally bashing his drum pads. 

I would have loved to hear more from him, and it seemed everyone in the room agreed — it was hard to hear any of his stage banter over the audience’s cheers. But as much as folks seemed to enjoy the openers, it was clear why they were all there. 

Sampha’s stage presence is charismatic, but he carries the gravity of the complex and deeply personal topics he writes about. He and his rack of keyboards were at the center of a semicircle of musicians. Alongside Ruthven, that included fellow mononymous players Rosetta on bass and Elsas on keys, plus drummer Blake Cascoe (who is also one-third of London abstract jazz trio ABNA) at stage right with his back mostly turned to the audience. Throughout the night, everyone onstage filled the role of utility player, rotating among the myriad instruments scattered around them. The imaginative live arrangements of the songs offered more space for the music to expand into different musical ideas. 

Certain far-out aspects of the quintet’s kinetic performance leaned toward Herbie Hancock’s electric funk, though Sampha's velvety melancholy was always at the forefront. The unit’s rendition of Process standout “Blood on Me” brought a new driving heaviness, with Sampha’s singing taking on extra layers of frantic intensity beyond the studio version. The band explored new textures as they bounced around between songs from both of Sampha’s albums.

The crowd hushed as the singer and his group stilled all the expansive sonic treatments to focus on the solitude of “(No One Knows Me) Like the Piano.” The recorded version is striking in its simplicity; it’s a perfect fit for the message in the song, and the group didn’t change it up just because they had the opportunity. It’s a potent reminder that for all the band’s capabilities, the songs are the foundation of what makes Sampha great.

Features

Sampha Looks to the Past to Build the Future on ‘Lahai’

• Kim Baldwin