Katie Hawthorne 

Olivia Dean review – pop-soul singer proves she was born for big stages

Delicately sipping a Red Stripe and accompanied by a seven-piece band, the Brit School grad loosens up her Mercury prize-nominated album with radiant star power
  
  

Olivia Dean performing at SWG3.
Olivia Dean performing at SWG3. Photograph: Aimee Todd/The Guardian

One hand raised to the heavens, the other fixed sharply on her hip, Olivia Dean is beaming. The 25-year-old musician is just three songs into her largest headline tour so far, and Echo – last year’s suave, soulful pop single about possibly misplaced trust – is a chic foil for her glamorous, Supremes-style choreography and her chemistry with her charismatic seven-piece band. With one flick of the wrist she summons a flourish of keys, a cymbal splash or a joyous trombone solo, and Dean looks both thrilled and in total control.

Still: “I’m quite nervous this evening,” she confesses, delicately sipping a Red Stripe. It’s surprising to hear from the Brit School graduate, a week after she delivered a stand-out Coachella set but, then again, Dean’s crowds are growing rapidly. Only last year she played to an audience a quarter of the size, down the road at King Tuts. She’s since been nominated for three Brit awards, and in June she’s bound for Glastonbury’s Pyramid stage.

Her debut album Messy, shortlisted for the Mercury prize, is about post-break up self-discovery and surrendering to artistic imperfections. The title track’s mantra – “it goes if you let it, it’s OK to regret it” – feels particularly resonant tonight, as the song culminates in a loose, rockier rendition of its usual outro. Dean tosses her curls, tambourine in hand, and cathartically shakes off that coiffed Motown composure. On record Messy can feel too manicured, but tonight its tracks bloom in the light of Dean’s radiant stage presence and that luxuriously large band (increasingly rare in today’s touring economy).

The brass trio emphasise the reggae in swooning romance Danger, and Ladies Room becomes a sunny, feel-good excuse for jazzy musical solos. The set lingers too long on a stripped-back middle section, although the hush highlights Dean’s creamy voice, and when the full band reunites behind tracks such as Carmen, dedicated to her Guyanese grandmother and the “bravery of immigrants”, it feels like a street party. “She would be so gassed to hear you screaming!” Dean shouts, glowing with pride, no nerves left in sight. Clearly, the bigger the show, the brighter she shines.

 

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