London,

To be Blunt this James is far better

Sophie Harris, London Lite 10.01.07

Just how easy would it be to dismiss James Morrison as yet another bleating singer-songwriter, doe of eye, troubled of countenance? For anyone who's seen Morrison's dewy publicity shots, pretty darn easy. Even his name sounds makes him sound like a blueprint of that champion of sensitivity, James Blunt.

But dig a little deeper and there's something far less contrived, far less simpering to Morrison than his angsty peers; a scuffed believability that sent debut album Undiscovered to the top of the charts (scoring number ten in 2006's bestsellers). In contrast to the Boy's Own bluster of Blunt, or the airbrushed angst of Paolo Nutini, James Morrison seems to sing from the heart. It's no huge surprise to learn, then, that his childhood was fairly turbulent, and as a baby nearly died from whooping cough, which left a permanent mark on his vocal chords.

Nevertheless, it was rather disarming to see a boyish, sweet-looking 21-yearold, taking the stage nervously last night - and then tearing into the Stevie Wonder-toned Under The Influence with such a splinter-grained, soulful voice. And boy, does Morrison give it all he's got - teeth gritted, there was simultaneously a tension and a looseness to the way he strummed at his acoustic guitar and sang.

Above all, Morrison sings like he loves it - when he delivers the line, " Sometimes I feel so full, it just comes spilling out," in hit single Wonderful World, you genuinely believe him. This is someone who's been there, done that and wiped his nose on the T-shirt.

What lets Morrison down, however, is his choice of backing musicians. The album, though slick and polished, is also warm and soulful - an adequate and sometimes exhilarating vehicle for his voice. But on stage, his band resembled a bunch of session musicians on Wogan, bobbing around politely. There was no chemistry, no charisma between them - they were there to play their instruments proficiently.

When Morrison delivered a thrilling rendition of The First Cut Is The Deepest, in the mould of fellow larynxshredder Rod Stewart, his guitarist launched into a tedious solo that made you wish Morrison had locked them in a cupboard. If Morrison had a band that played with half the fervour and passion he sings with, then the audience - last night, singing along, smiling and clapping amiably - might really let rip too.

Vocally, Morrison is capable of really barking out blues, so he cut an incongruous figure next to such a bland band - like a lion in a shopping centre. Get this boy some Tremeloes, or some Pips, or some Soul Stirrers - at least, the raw, soulful backing band he deserves - and then there'll be more reasons to bop at Morrison's gigs.

Details are correct at the time of publication - please check with venue before booking.

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