Scratch 22 warms the anxious crowd with some Bill Withers as the time nears for Mayer Hawthorne to come onstage. The people here are almost as interesting as the music so far, as DJs mingle with jazz musicians, and homies, hipsters, and hotties populate the bar area in search of one last drink before heading closer to the stage. The night is clearly a special occasion for some, with those in the know dressed in slim fit suits, accompanied by ladies in throwback prints.
Hawthorne’s quartet burst through the room, their propulsive funk gleaming with the shine of punk energy. This isn’t a hobbled together group of session musicians looking for a buck, not at all; in fact it proves to be by the end of the night, a band with superior understanding and ability of how to decimate an audience.
I was initially skeptical about the thought of Hawthorne live. Would his voice hold up? Would the slick production and catchy songs transfer to a live set? Can a hip white boy really deliver pure soul music worth your time? After a shaky start, which took up only half of the first song, the Michigan born singer delivered a set which could be seen as some sort of dictionary definition of professionalism. Within a handful of songs Hawthorne’s charisma, call and response, and astonishing band had turn the large crowd into a frenzied pit of singing, dancing, clapping participants. Standouts were predictably the best songs from his recorded output, ‘Your Easy Lovin’, Ain’t Pleasin’ Nothin’ was delivered with a Commodores’ style stage dance, while the infectious ‘A Long Time’ drew probably the biggest response from the crowd, and ‘Green Eyed Love’ then showed the band at its most precise and effective. Throughout Hawthorne interacted with the audience with ease and charm, the composite front man, even if his voice was exposed at times during ballads as a little flat. Never once were his calls for hands in the air, or singing along to a chorus meet with any hesitation. Every song, joke, and recognition of the crowd was met with mild adoration.
The musicianship was a display of inspired discipline and considered flamboyance. The first half of set was a tightly programmed medley of floor fillers delivered with ridiculous efficiency, underpinned by the sort of rhythm and blues played by musicians whose influences are as broad as Allen Toussaint and Talking Heads. A switch into ballads isn’t completely successful, paling in comparison to what has come before. Towards the end of the show, Hawthorne confesses that he collapsed only an hour before the show, the effects of a busy schedule the cause. Onstage he jokes that it’s just because he’s “living like a rock star”, before continuing to perform. This proves the impetus for a huge finale, with the band showing an emphatic ability to deliver not only grooves, but also break into some impressive solos as they brought the intensity in the room up to boiling point, finishing as they had with Hawthorne leaving the stage first, his band winding things down just as they had warmed up.
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