The music of Carlos Jobim, James Taylor and Bob Dylan showed up on singer Cassandra Wilson's last album, Belly of the Sun - a broader repertoire that has set her remarkable, cello-toned voice new challenges. Having shifted from New York avant-fusion to traditional acoustic blues in the mid-1990s, Wilson has kept the spare, guitar-led lineup but reintroduced a contemporary jazz singer's repertoire. Her Barbican performance had the jazz standard Skylark, the Dinah Washington favourite Soft Winds, the Monkees' Last Train to Clarksville and Van Morrison's Tupelo Honey gliding one into another in elegant harmony.
Wilson's performance followed an excellent opening set from the British singer Cleveland Watkiss, an atmospheric and eloquent contribution. Watkiss is a flexible performer whose work embraces DJ culture, computer-aided music, world jazz and standards, but on this occasion his set mirrored Wilson's softly acoustic style. The percussion was on low-burn, while the pianist, Cleveland's brother Trevor Watkiss, played straightish jazz piano in apposite interjections. Kora player Tunde Jegede added a tinkling counterpoint to the singer's voice in the later stages. Fragments from the Nat Cole vehicle Nature Boy mingled with ethereal Africanised sounds and quiet Latin grooving, greeted by the audience - most of whom had come for the headline act - with considerable warmth.
Wilson arrived with the spare instrumentation typical of her recent work - just guitar, bass and percussion, plus a fine jazz harmonica player operating as a complementary voice. Percussionist Jeff Haynes, bassist Lonnie Plaxico, guitarist Brandon Ross and Gregoire Maret on harmonica added succinct contributions, although they were perhaps not enough to dispel the monotone that Wilson's live shows are prone to.
None the less, the singer's captivating low tones embraced Skylark, with Plaxico's steely bass sound its only accompaniment. Haynes's deft hand-drumming and Maret's swooping harmonica lines embroidered Soft Winds, and Last Train to Clarksville quickened the pulse over Ross's full-bodied rhythm guitar sound. An unfocused drift to some slower episodes snapped into clarity on Tupelo Honey, with the resolving word "bee" hovering intensely in the air as if on blurred wings.
Performing barefoot on a Persian rug and moving in trancelike weaves, Wilson was always charismatic. Yet the element of surprise still seemed to be missing.
