jaybs
01-25-2012, 06:37 AM
Not a flattering Review in today's Guardian Newspaper
Martha Reeves live at Ronnie Scott's in London
Not performing to her advantage … Martha Reeves. Photograph: David Sinclair for the Guardian
There is a brief moment, almost at the end of her show, when Martha Reeves' voice comes into its own. As you might expect, she is singing her deathless hit Dancing in the Streets – but, unexpectedly, it happens during the song's absurdly protracted coda, when she pays tribute to her friends in the business, among them Mavis Staples. Reeves gives us a verse of the Staple Singers' funk gospel song I'll Take You There, and for those few lines allows her voice to drop an octave, to a husky rasp. It's a wonderful sound: if only she had used it more.
Martha Reeves and the Vandellas
Ronnie Scott's,
London
W1
Until 27 January
Box office:
020 7439 0747
Instead, Reeves persists in singing high, straining for a register just beyond her reach. It's not that she can't get up there, more that she has no control over the notes when she does: they quiver and ping and morph into shrieks. You can't blame her for wanting to deny the ravages of time – and yet, it's hard to understand why someone evidently so passionate about performing doesn't do so to her own advantage.
Equally unfortunate is the exposure of her voice in this setting. The current Vandellas – "babies who weren't even born" when Reeves' best-loved songs were released – are barely audible, while the backing band are restrained to the point of perfunctory. Nowhere to Run and Heatwave ought to pulse with barely contained sex, but these renditions are bloodless: you long for the filthy sound of soul throwbacks such as the Dap-Kings. As she demonstrates the funky chicken, it's clear Reeves is having a splendid time, as is the audience member in his 60s rejuvenated by the loveliness of Jimmy Mack. But the gap between past and present is acute
Martha Reeves live at Ronnie Scott's in London
Not performing to her advantage … Martha Reeves. Photograph: David Sinclair for the Guardian
There is a brief moment, almost at the end of her show, when Martha Reeves' voice comes into its own. As you might expect, she is singing her deathless hit Dancing in the Streets – but, unexpectedly, it happens during the song's absurdly protracted coda, when she pays tribute to her friends in the business, among them Mavis Staples. Reeves gives us a verse of the Staple Singers' funk gospel song I'll Take You There, and for those few lines allows her voice to drop an octave, to a husky rasp. It's a wonderful sound: if only she had used it more.
Martha Reeves and the Vandellas
Ronnie Scott's,
London
W1
Until 27 January
Box office:
020 7439 0747
Instead, Reeves persists in singing high, straining for a register just beyond her reach. It's not that she can't get up there, more that she has no control over the notes when she does: they quiver and ping and morph into shrieks. You can't blame her for wanting to deny the ravages of time – and yet, it's hard to understand why someone evidently so passionate about performing doesn't do so to her own advantage.
Equally unfortunate is the exposure of her voice in this setting. The current Vandellas – "babies who weren't even born" when Reeves' best-loved songs were released – are barely audible, while the backing band are restrained to the point of perfunctory. Nowhere to Run and Heatwave ought to pulse with barely contained sex, but these renditions are bloodless: you long for the filthy sound of soul throwbacks such as the Dap-Kings. As she demonstrates the funky chicken, it's clear Reeves is having a splendid time, as is the audience member in his 60s rejuvenated by the loveliness of Jimmy Mack. But the gap between past and present is acute