In Bollywood, the most popular male vocalists are playback singers, chameleons whose voices can fit any actor or character on screen, and Arijit Singh is currently king: he is the most followed (though not most streamed) artist on Spotify, surpassing Taylor Swift last month with 120.5m followers. Those fans are drawn to Singh’s vocal malleability, and tonight – the closing date of a UK arena run – he duly intersperses Bollywood hits (such as Khwaja Mere Khwaja, Kun Faya Kun and Roobaroo) outside his core discography.
His vocals are decadently rich and buttery, but also rock solid. Performing meend, the gliding of one note to the next, each note topples like a domino; Teri Meri Kahani, Ae Dil Hai Mushkil and Janam Janam highlight the balance of delicate power that defines Singh’s voice. But despite his virtuosity, Singh isn’t self-indulgent. He sings for nearly four hours, delivering more than 40 songs without faltering, not even pausing while signing T-shirts on stage.
Singh has often spoken about feeling somewhat trapped within his genre; some previous shows have been more sombre and harked back to his Hindustani classical inspirations. This show, too, contains impressive sargam, or the singing of notes rather than words, as in the opening of Kesariya.
But he has said he considers UK audiences to be more receptive than most to musical experiments – and some, such as Bhekayali during which Tapas Roy performs an incredible mandolin solo, work fantastically tonight. Others, like the EDM-influenced Saware, work less well, but the crowd remains engaged – some headbanging, others nodding along.
Singh admits that he’s uncomfortable in the limelight, and his performance exudes humility, limiting himself to smiles, waves and hand hearts while singing. Once in a while, he wishes audience members a happy birthday, and it’s genuine and gentle.
With this in mind, the theatrics during some songs are out of place and forced, detracting from his essence as a musician. During Nashe Si Chadh Gayi, a pair of dancers perform a sort of striptease, ending in an embrace; it’s rare for a concert to draw an awkward silence, but this crowd, consisting almost entirely of middle-aged south Asians and their families, squirms in unison. At other times a massive LED screen with visuals akin to a Windows screensaver, is abrasively bright. Singh and many of his contemporaries’ songs contain deliberately simple instruments and lyrics to foreground their voices – so to distract like this is criminal.
But in an era where cheers are currency, a stunned silence is under-appreciated. The tender, stripped-back moments at this show, where the raucous crowd is quelled and rapt, have a rare power.
