Live Review: Leon Bridges, Thando

Leon Bridges tickets sold out in no time, fans packing out Sydney's 1,100-strong Metro Theatre, and there's little debate as to why. Harking back to an age few in the audience would remember, the Texan bridges the divide between the height of early-'60s southern soul and now.

But first, Zimbabwe-born, Melbourne-based Thando Sikwila wowed the early crowd with her explosive voice. Her notes erupted with elegant ferocity, filling the space, reaching the swaying crowd-dwellers right up to the bartenders in the bleachers.

Fresh from a collaboration with REMI and on the threshold of her Numb national tour, Thando was in good spirits. The soulful musical stylings of Henry James and Michael Cooper added to a spirited show.

Dressed all in white, somewhere between Elvis and James Brown, Leon Bridges glided onto the stage. Opening with Smooth Sailin' seemed a superstitious choice. While there were a few minor hiccups, the audience was nevertheless enthralled throughout. Perhaps the prologue proved prophetic after all. Bridges was like Rubber Man, stretching and contorting himself while dancing with the microphone. Then the lights dimmed to black. The darkness was replaced by purple light rippling across the ceiling. This signalled a departure from the straight soul of his inaugural album toward something groovier.

Fresh single Bad Bad News from Bridges' forthcoming second LP, Good Thing, consisted of chicken-grease guitar, a uniform hook and a melodic chorus. While the saxophone from the studio version was missing, the void was filled with some exceptional keys. Intermittent streams of white light broke through the rich purple as the groove continued. From an electric purple to a soft blue wash, falsetto blues followed. Another track from Good Thing, Bet Ain't Worth The Hand is a song reminiscent of the Motown ballads of the early 1970s. Think The Isley Brothers, The Commodores, Marvin Gaye.

Bridges seemed to be in the mood to pay homage to the greats of R&B with a JB-like funky refrain. Bridges gave a rap, reminiscent of James Brown's patented call and response, asking, "Sydney, have you got the juice?" He then cavorted around the stage, drenched in a regal gold wash. Then he asked: "Are there any brown skin girls in the room?" The crowd was buoyed by the recognition of one of his older tracks.

This song, as well as the following track, Coming Home, dripped with nostalgia. Bridges struggled to hit the higher register, deferring to the audience to back him up (or possibly drown out the missed note). Better Man completed a hattrick of simple soul songs.

There is a particular quality that lulls listeners into a world of romance with these easy love songs. Bridges' success lies in his ability to take us to a world untouched by the nastiness of now. These seemingly antiquated lyrics are timeless. They draw you in precisely because of their simplicity, their lack of deeper meaning. It's like soma for the ears, an elixir to the woes of postmodernity. Yet, it is also inherently postmodern in its pastiche of a bygone era.