Lady Blackbird in Concert

Going to see Lady Blackbird I realised that, maybe, I don’t have the vocabulary to describe music. I understand genre, tone and the way a bass note can hit in the chest, or a sustained high note takes you floating. But music, it seems, is a language of its own that gets lost in translation. Something gets misshapen when words do their clunky business.

Lady Blackbird is the stage name for American born Marley Munroe. She is often categorised as a jazz or soul singer-songwriter. Her influences draw from jazz, soul, funk and rock. The BBC 6 Music DJ Giles Petersen described her as the “Grace Jones of Jazz”. In other words, she is difficult to compartmentalise. She is eccentric, bold and passionate. Her obvious musical talent is combined with a sense of theatre.

The Bridgewater Hall in Manchester is custom-built music venue, designed as the home for the Halle Orchestra. It is famous for its acoustics. It is a cathedral to sound. Lady Blackbird entered the cathedral in full headdress, white corset and cape. And the audience was invited into her world.

Some words attempt to capture sound, the onomatopoeic crash of drums, the thrum of a guitar. But for an artist who transcends genre, words are not enough.

The sounds evoked other senses, touched deep into the imagination. This is what I saw in my mind’s eye while I listened.

Lady Blackbird opened the show with her cover of Nina Simone’s Blackbird. It is the track that earned her, her nickname – a blend of Lady Day (Billie Holiday) and a protest song. It is a pared back track. Her melancholic vocals are the star. And what did I see beyond the headdress and corset? I saw her morph into a woman on a march, dressed in black, combat boots and a placard. One arm is raised in protest, a single tear. I saw defiance. I saw courage. I saw others crowding around. I saw a spirit soaring with clipped, damaged wings. Resilience and anger.

When she sings “If I told you” the scene shifts to a Texan bar, wooden floors and panelling. There are sports flags on the wall. There is whiskey and the campiest line dance I’ve ever witnessed – drag queens, sequins, teetering high heels, laughter and a mirror ball, lighting up the heavily made-up faces. Expert kicks and flicks.

There is the slow double bass of "Someday We’ll Be Free". It sounds like a storm brewing. And there is a woman on the deck of a ship leaving home. There are crowds waving the passengers off, but she is looking away towards the ocean. There is a quiet hope and a deep menace. I think about the Windrush generation and the betrayal of the promise.

"When the Game is Played on You" is melancholy. I see a couple dancing – a classy nightclub, turning slightly sordid now that the crowds have gone. A lone singer stands above them as they realise they are not going to survive the cheating. From bodies entwined the couple slowly separate, stepping over the broken glass on the floor. The lights turn red.

"Reborn" is upbeat and I see a sweaty teenager dancing in a club, like she is praying. Joyous, defiant, arms high, swaying with a crowd. This is not a display for anyone but her. Eyes upward, Huge smile. Bottle in hand. Music is her God.

Lady Blackbird leaves the stage and we know the drill and we clap, cheer and stamp our feet until she returns. The encore is "I am What I am" that morphs into the rousing lullaby of "Let Not Your Heart Be Troubled". And I see joy and diversity. The drag queens are back, swaying with protesters, broken hearts, migrants, the lonely, teenagers or wrinkled old faces. It is a celebration of life lived on the edges and we all sing along – Let Not Your Heart Be Troubled. We are soothed, encouraged, loved. We leave the cathedral following a sermon on the value of live music.

But the image that stayed with me most that night was the guy on the front row. An obvious superfan, dancing in his seat, standing at choruses, knowing all the words. It was joyful.