Live Review: The Revolution Will Not Be Televised: Pieces Of Gil Scott-Heron

To recapture the spirit and intensity of Gil Scott-Heron without the legendary jazz and spoken-word musician is a near-impossible task. It is fortunate, then, that The Revolution Will Not Be Televised: Pieces Of Gil Scott-Heron does not attempt to do this. Instead, the tribute show resonates on a far more spiritual level; highlighting the impact Scott-Heron had on the tonight's performers and his influence the world over.

The performance begins with a rendition of the show's titular piece, re-imagined with modernised lyrics by True Live's Ryan Ritchie and 1200 Techniques frontman N'Fa. With references to Peter Dutton and Instagram, the updated version manages to encapsulate Scott-Heron's humorous undertones while still remaining sincere. Ritchie continues the night with the funky-yet-dissonant Whitey On The Moon as well as Home Is Where The Hatred Is, before slipping into Kanye West's My Way Home­ - which sampled the Scott-Heron track - to cement just how influential and timeless the music is.

The band continue until the spotlight falls on pianist Hue Blanes, who soars with lounge-style vocals over the jazz/funk instrumentation. A welcome tonal shift in the evening.

After a very tight version of Johannesburg, the smooth and suave Walter Saluni takes the mic and serenades the audience with a tremendous and awe-inspiring rendition of Peace Go With You, Brother (As-Salaam-Alaikum).

N'Fa returns to immerse the crowd in a splash of spoken-word mastery. Evoking an energetic call and response in Angel Dust and intimately working through the humorous delicacies of I'm New Here, he embodies much of Scott-Heron's own special flair.

With the performance interspersed with visuals of Scott-Heron's lyrics and video footage, the transitional flow between singers is smooth. But, when Hailey Cramer slowly moves into frame with Superman (Ain't No Such Thing As), the room is engulfed in an explosive and unmatchable soul power. Cramer belts out every note with effortless precision and breathes a fiery force into the night.

The final performer of the evening, Vince Jones, shuffles on as if he is the only one in the room. Randomly peppering his banter with vocal licks and tuneful hums, the singer/trumpeter has a laidback demeanour that perfectly fits the tone of the performance. While it's initially confronting to witness the Caucasian musician singing of segregation struggles in songs such as The Bottle and Pieces Of A Man, Jones's earnest and clearly genuine affection for the late Scott-Heron is an ultimate reminder of the musician's transcendental genius.