Who do you come to a James Blunt gig to hear: James Blunt or the crowd – or yourself? At times it seems the man himself wasn’t sure, stepping away from the microphone as he scaled the peaks of his first few choruses. The village-fete karaoke mood had already been established by the supporting act Toploader – the men who sing but did not write “Dancing in the Moonlight”, and whose finest moment was joking that they might not play it. By the time Blunt arrived, the arena was well warmed, in voice and spirit. We were celebrating the 20th anniversary of Blunt’s bestselling debut album Back to Bedlam – which he performed in full, in order. The album leads with “You’re Beautiful”, “Wisemen” and “Goodbye My Lover”, tracks which have attained that anthemic status in British culture, which we might define as those songs you cannot remember ever not knowing. Their effect might be described as a collective sentimentality, more in common with the football terrace than the songbook.
But that is to slightly undersell the qualities of Blunt’s album and performance. Though less well known, songs like “Out of My Mind” and (particularly) “No Bravery” are very fine indeed, and despite claiming not to have played them for 18 years, Blunt brought a new vigour to tunes that can otherwise feel over-delicate. His live arrangements are heavier than the campfire strum that dominates the studio versions (“So Long, Jimmy” featured an extended and unexpected guitar jam), and Blunt’s voice more powerful, shorn of the helium whine which is his trademark or his undoing (depending on your point of view). As ever with such nostalgic events, the energy waned as the present loomed: the medley of newer material Blunt segued into received less of an echo from the crowd. But it is hard to forget any concert that can, by its fourth track, find you roaring and interlinked with your companions, some of whom I don’t think I have otherwise had occasion to embrace since the under-15s E-team scrum.
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