Tony Bennett at the Royal Albert Hall, review: Poignancy like this tightens the chest

Old master: Tony Bennett
Larry Busacca

Frank Sinatra seemed, briefly, as if he might not be a man of his word. As it does at every show, his voice came crackling through the speakers, promising that Tony Bennett would “tear the place up.”

As Bennett shuffled on stage – arms aloft, smiling, but still shuffling – you wouldn’t have bet on it. He’s a good-looking 92, but still, 92 is 92. Then again, Frank is Frank; even two decades after his death, he’s still the Chairman of the Board, and by the end of the evening it was clear he’d won any wager. This night at the Royal Albert Hall was one where Bennett proved he's not so far from the peak of his powers.

And what powers. If the voice has had its tone altered by age – it is grittier now, coarser at the edges than it was even two years ago – his way with emotion seems to have sharpened. Though he flung his arms wide in a gesture of uplifting goodwill to an audience who adored him (from half-way through, they stood to clap – Sunday, you imagine, was a day of bad backs) and though he beamed with joy at the end of each number, the evening had a certain sadness to it, a wistfulness. Poignancy like this tightens the chest.

From the off, his band hummed, the tight quartet as tight and slick as drum-skins. I Got Rhythm was lively, but it only served to set up the emotional wrench from the rest of the set. He earned a laugh with the opening lyric of This Is All I Ask, “As I approach the prime of my life”. The laughter settled down into something deeper, though, as the verses went by. “Beautiful girls/Walk a little slower when you walk by me” earned some chuckles, but by the last line, there was only longing in the air. “And let the music play as long as there's a song to sing/And I will stay younger than spring,” he sang, the note faltering slightly. We shivered.

Notes did falter, sometimes, and lyrics sometimes went missing. It didn’t matter. In fact, his way of playing with melodies on the fly, as he reached for a note and realised his voice might not grab it, was captivating, like watching a master craftsman at work. When a line wasn’t there, Bennett sang the notes; his elegance under pressure showed an old hand dealing gracefully with new impairments.

Such things didn’t slow him; certain numbers, like The Good Life, seemed to come and go in just a few bars. Nor have they diminished his force: at times, he let the mic drop and still his voice filled the Royal Albert Hall; at other times, in moments of crescendo, he not merely filled the room but rattled it.

Bennett seemed to be having a good time, though, playing up his band, waving for applause as they soloed. But the heart came from his delivery, from wringing meaning from lyrics that otherwise might be flimsy. I Left My Heart in San Francisco was looking for a love gone, For Once In My Life ached with new meaning. These songs have been sung countless times, and by countless others, and there are still young men in tight suits trying to make a living from them. Some of these are close copies; hearing Bennett, slight raspiness and all, was a reminder of the real thing.

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