Live Review: Sharon Jones & The Dap Kings, The Bombay Royale, Saun & Starr

Outside, violent storms were ripping through Mount Lawley, but inside The Astor The Bombay Royale were cracking up a sweat.

A gifted ten-piece troupe that recreates the magic and mayhem of vintage Bollywood movies, their vast slew of instruments must have been a nightmare for the mixing desk. As an act that virtually monopolises their own subgenre, the live domain is the best way to meet this band of unusually vibrant colour and pulsing virility. A feast for the eyes, dragooned in glittery saris and retro Ghurkha uniforms with tasselled shoulder pads, they taught new dances, laid down colossal bass grooves and thrilled with twangy James Bond-style guitar. The unbridled applause for their explosive Jaan Pehechan Ho finale confirmed they’d won over an initially neutral crowd.

The ten-strong Dap-Kings warmed the crowd with an entree of numbers sung by the group’s backing singers Saun & Starr.

Favouring sweet-natured songs such as Hot Spot, they made a fine impression but were still just a teaser for the mighty Sharon Jones, who stormed on stage, ceaselessly projecting to every part of the room, from the opening Stranger To My Happiness to a burning 100 Days, 100 Nights. There have been numerous line-up changes over the years, but the band’s cohesion and chemistry was as if they’d played together since day one. With shirt button-popping blasts from the horn section, they ignited uncontrollable outbreaks of shimmying and shape pulling, with such success that the band thought it best that the front row be invited onstage to demonstrate their moves.

The emotional peak came however when Ms. Jones recounted her recent brush with death. A cancer survivor, she revealed through a rhythm-backed sermon that it was her fans’ outpouring of support to her bald-headed, post-chemo Facebook photo that gave her the strength to rise from her hospital bed. It could’ve been schmaltzy, but, delivered with Jones’ energy, charisma and dynamism, it was nothing less than life-affirming as she danced, utterly lost in the rhythm.

“Is that moustache fake?” a wag in the audience cried out of the bass man’s precisel- trimmed handlebar. “No baby,” came Ms. Jones’ reply. Like everything she and the Dap-Kings do, it was all for real.