Gabriels
(Picture: press handout)The irresistible rise of Gabriels over the past 18 months has included a high-profile endorsement from Elton John, a triumphant Glastonbury appearance, and the release last month of their lavishly praised debut album, Angels and Queens Part One. At the first of two hot-ticket shows at the newly opened Here venue, part of the new Outernet complex, a subterranean bunker below Charing Cross Road, the Anglo-American soul-pop trio played a slender set clocking in at under an hour, a testament to their modest back catalogue to date.
But this was also an evening of flamboyant gestures, baroque emotions and bold sartorial choices, not least the super-sized flying saucer hat that singer Jacob Lusk wore for the first few numbers.
A former American Idol contestant and gospel choir leader, Lusk was flanked by his more anonymous bandmates, Ari Balouzian and Ryan Hope, on keyboards and electronics, plus a wider mini-orchestra including string players and backing singers.
The arrangements were impressively supple and lightly experimental, even if there was a certain tuxedo-wearing tastefulness to the trio’s overall package of politely manicured, post-modern collages of blues and jazz, disco and soul. Fortunately any hint of starchy traditionalism was offset by Lusk’s magnetic charisma and operatic camp, which lent an edge of excess-all-arias drama to even the most low-voltage numbers.
Despite competing for attention with a massive high-resolution video backdrop, the singer still managed to command the stage, a human mirrorball twirling and preening and flouncing around in a vivid scarlet cape.
“London will always be home to us,” he beamed, recalling the band’s early breakthrough shows in the capital. This might have sounded like fake flattery from another singer, but Lusk has a rare gift for investing even corny cliché with heartfelt warmth.
Crucially, he can walk the walk as well as talk the talk. For all the razzle-dazzle presentation at this show, the real weapon of mass seduction was Lusk’s strikingly versatile voice, which veered between whisper and scream, desolate sobs and lusty testifying. On the brooding, cinematic trip-hop number The Blind, he explored 50 shades of heartbreak, from sullen brooding to octave-surfing, tear-jerking, melismatic maximalism. On Angels and Queens his featherweight falsetto seemed to float heavenwards, channelling the pantheon of silver-tongued soul greats from Smoky to Curtis, Marvin to Luther.
Later in the set, Lusk adopted a luxuriant bluesy gurgle for the fabulous retro-jazz pastiche ballad Bloodline, then switched into classic torch singer mode with Professional, a nakedly confessional weepie couched in elegantly spare piano.
Leaving the stage to rapturous applause, Lusk concluded this highly endearing performance with one last inspirational homily, reminding us “you are loved, you are valued, and the world needs you.” Words to lift the spirit, ideally while wearing a fabulous hat.
