We were warned with ample time that THIS TOUR MAY CONTAIN NEW MUSIC. You’d think this would mean Raye’s audience was ready and succinctly composed to receive fresh offerings. But that would be underestimating the captivating nature of Raye’s live performances – nay, a minor affront to the artist that she is. For the two hours, she graced the stage of Manchester’s newly erected CO-OP Live, with a set split into four distinct halves – bold ballads, and glitter-endowed, slick offerings kept the congregation hooked onto every line, every vocal trill, every ditty revival, every impressive note sustainment, to no surprise, of course.
Her quadriptych painted contrasting versions of Raye, each from different emotional seasons. The first, vying for love (‘WHERE IS MY HUSBAND!), before heartbreak (‘Flip A Switch.’) and cautionary tales (‘Beware the South London Lover Boy’) take the centre stage for a newly-single woman who uses faux fur coats as comfort blankets in July (‘Winter Woman’). The third, and most vulnerable, let down her guard, trusted again, only to be forced to rock bottom (‘Ice Cream Man.’). But the fourth? She’s grown, she’s learning, she’s holding accountability (‘Black Mascara.), and she’s not falling for feigned, half-hearted admissions of regret anymore (‘Oscar Winning Tears.’). Here, Raye is championing recovery and re-educating herself on feeling ‘Joy’ again.
As is evidenced by the evolution and carefully planned order of the setlist, this was not just a concert or a singer simply showing her voice to the crowd. It was a show, a theatrical journey through the highs and lows of Raye’s psyche – and almost straight from Vegas, or Midtown Manhattan, her entrance was preceded by the gritty enunciations of Louis Armstrong, with backing vocals provided by a babbling, excited crowd. The stage, veiled by a thick, red, plush curtain, nodded to the class, and exquisite showmanship was to follow.
From the outset, Raye wanted to make clear that she’d “fully entered [her] dramatic era”, with orchestras, smoke, Hocus-Pocus-esque movements with her backing singers (‘Beware the South London Lover Boy’), and giant cloud decorations, that promise was duly fulfilled. Honesty was at the forefront of the show – with Raye admitting she’d neglected to administer deodorant before coming on stage: “When you’re honest, there’s nothing for you to be insecure about”. And it was this honesty that fostered and strengthened the relationship she had with the crowd – whether that was admitting wire-mishaps, her team calling certain sections of her set “weak”, or teasing the Arena that they’d want their phones out for the next bit, only to hold up a QR code to pre-order her upcoming sophomore record: “cos im still an independent artist and I have an album to sell”.
On THIS MUSIC MAY CONTAIN HOPE., Raye noted it was largely written from a third-person perspective, and for this section of the show, she became the narrator. The stage transformed into a Jazz Bar, complete with small round tables, stage doors, and bouncers. She painted the detailed picture of a “medium-aged” woman walking down a dark street alone at night – her band hitting a D-minor and trumpeter Mark performing a solo to carve out the mystery of the narrative – she’s single, but not in a multiple “side piece” way, instead “it’s giving dried river bed, deserts and desserts”, welcome, to Raye’s Jazz bar. Despite the incredible stage setup and aesthetics, there were refreshingly few phones in the crowd as Raye performed a cover of ‘Fly Me To The Moon’.
Fictionally, we’re now seven martinis deep, and our protagonist’s mind has “dangerously drifted to her ex”, noting Celeste had already penned an incredible song on the upcoming subject, ‘Nightingale Lane’, detailing the greatest heartache she’d ever known – completely detaching herself from another and having to move on. After her incredible sonic recount, the curtain went down, the lights dimmed, leaving only a sliver of space at the front of the stage where Raye reappeared, seated at a piano. The tonal change was dramatic, even in heartache; Raye was offering humour and quips, but here, earnestness reigned, and all excitement had discharged from the air – Raye fans knew what songs were coming next, and they gave her the space she needed to perform them.
Before performing, Raye offered context to those unaware of the origins of ‘Ice Cream Man.’ She spoke directly to survivors of sexual assault, those still struggling, and said everything they needed to hear: “Everything will be okay”. The room fell silent, as, holding back tears, she poured her heart into every piano note, and laid her experiences bare: “It took a while to understand what my consent means / If I was ruthless, they’d be in the penitentiary / But all the stress of being honest wouldn’t help me / I pushed it down, but it was living in me rent free / And then I fell into some things that were unhealthy / A place where no one heard me asking them to help me”.
After a brief interlude, an orchestra joined Raye on stage, alongside conductor Tom, who spent eight months working on the arrangements for the live record My 21st Century Symphony (Live at the Royal Albert Hall). The next duo of songs was elevated by the presence of the live band, with ‘Oscar Winning Tears.’ being a standout performance of the evening, as she berates the crocodile tears of her wrongdoer: “Nine o’clock entertainment / Oh, man, I wish I could tape it”.
Next? The nightclub segment of the evening. RAYE was emblazoned on the screen, the Y rose out of view and was quickly replaced by a V, and the orchestra popped on blacked-out sunglasses – to the delighted screams of the 23,000-strong arena. Following were a selection of her features (‘Prada’), and rave-ready anthems (‘Secrets’, ‘Black Mascara.’), complete with heavy use of strobes and a bouncing crowd. Bringing out her sisters, Absolutely, and Amma for her reaquaintance with ‘Joy’, Raye falsely closed the show before declaring that they’d “missed a song”. And no Raye set would’ve been complete without the infectious, smash-hit collaboration with 070 Shake ‘Escapism.’.
RAYE isn’t just set to be remembered for her 21st Century Blues, but as a pioneer of the genre. In a decade oversaturated with pop purposely engineered for short social media clips, and intentionally pumped with the perfect ingredients for a catchy cut, RAYE is stripping it back, sitting down, and planting her roots in the freshly-turned soils of soul and jazz. She’s not forcing greatness – she’s just showing herself, making music for her, and naturally, she’s been met with tantamount adoration.
Words by Lana Williams
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