Raye glides her voice up an octave or two a cappella, then rattles off a melisma almost as an afterthought. The south London singer-songwriter holds a note for what seems an impossibly long time. Soon after, she fusses about her hair and explains how if she’s fiddling around under her skirt, she’s just adjusting a sweaty mic pack. Raye asks the crowd for clemency if a nipple pops out of her corset dress. “There are some great photo-editing apps,” she jokes.
The night’s theme is, apparently, honesty, and Rachel Keen is the kind of glamorous pop star who, like Adele before her, shrinks the room by gassing about nerdy detail or confiding secrets of the trade. She is particularly delighted with the power she wields over Matt Brooks, her drummer, who is obliged to bring percussion crashing down every time she raises and lowers an arm. “I could be scratching my head! Or doing ballet!” she notes, hand above her head. “Pauly’s so patient with me,” she adds, about guitarist Paul Murray, the band leader. She gestures, and down come the entire band, dramatically and on point.
