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Concert reviews Music

Emeli Sande

EMELI SANDE at the Drake Underground, Wednesday, March 7. Rating: NNNN

As soon as Emeli Sande sang her first note, everything made sense. It was the second night of a hushed showcase at the Drake Underground, the Scottish-born singer-songwriter’s public Canadian debut and her last stop on a mini North American, label-backed tour.

A grip of excited fans settled on the floor in front of the stage and stayed there for the short, intimate set. Many sang along. Sande’s debut, Our Version Of Events, is out here in June, coinciding with her second summer of touring in support of Coldplay. Right now, she’s almost entirely anonymous in Canada but in the UK, the record is number one and she’s a star. This subtext made it almost surreal to watch the blonde-coiffed singer, clearly comfortable in front of thousands, on the tiny Drake Underground stage with just three accompanying musicians.

I first heard her on Never Be Your Woman – a bubbly 2010 tune by British rapper Wiley, which samples Whitetown’s creaky, 90s hit. One smoldering vocal loop didn’t hint at the syrupy siren call Sande possesses. Polished and powerful, with a bird-like tremor at its base, her voice is reminiscent of pop diva greats like Mariah Carey and Whitney Houston and was almost too much for that tiny room.

She opened with her first single Heaven, stripped of its big, drum and bass-inspired radio sound down to an electric cellist, quiet bongos and acoustic guitar. That one song contains all of Sande: power hooks built on precise abandon and peals of gilded highs, swaddled in restrained, affecting verses. She’s written for a variety of British artists, from Leona Lewis to Susan Boyle to Tinie Tempah, and has an instinctual grasp of bare, wholesome, vivid pop.

A pro even at the age of 23, Sande introduced each song with a simple narrative or dedication – folky Next To Me is, “for the good people in our lives, because they do exist,” and Breaking The Law went out to her sister – endearing herself to the crowd. She explored a more soulful sorrow in Coldplay’s Every Teardrop Is A Waterfall, but it was Clowns that stunned the room into silence: a simple, piano ballad that took her emotive might into Mariah territory. Goosebumps-good.

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