There’s a musical device called an appoggiatura, an ornamental note that clashes with the melody just enough to create a dissonant sound. “When the notes return to the anticipated melody, the tension resolves,” writes musicologist Martin Guhn, “and it feels good.”
Sam Smith’s music is littered with dozens of these, often within seconds of each other. He relies upon them so much, it sometimes feels he’s forgotten to write a song to match. This, depending on your perspective, is a wonderful gift. Tickets for his sold-out Brisbane show were going for $300.
It starts like this. Screams. A poppy flashes up on the giant screens either side of the stage. Thousands of mobiles flash in trembling anticipation. Lights strobe, the band walks on. More screams. A voice sounds from stage back, trembling and lovelorn, tentative but growing stronger with every note. “You’re the drug that gets me through.” A face appears on the screen, smiling, doe-eyed, a little wistful.
Smith walks on stage. “Can’t you see that I am yours? So will you be my life support?” he hiccups soulfully as thousands upon thousands of fans provide it, vocally. The bombastic Disclosure collaboration, Together, begins. Smith smiles shyly. “Brisbane, how are you?” he asks.
Tonight is special for two reasons, he tells us. It’s his first ever show in Australia (it isn’t, actually: he played Splendour 2014) and he’s just heard his album has gone to number one. “Are you ready to sing along on every single word with me?”
Blue-eyed great white hope. Multiple Grammy winner. Purveyor of modern-day soul like Adele and Ed Sheeran and all those other Brit artists. Nothing to be upset by. But it’s interesting to watch how pop stars interact with their audiences.
When Lady Gaga played Brisbane, she kept reading out notes from her fans that reaffirmed their devotion; how much she’d changed their lives. When Kylie played the BEC, she was down-to-earth, clearly delighted by the response, clearly impromptu in her responses.
“Before I wrote this album I had a very warped idea of what I needed to do to get famous,” Smith tells us tonight. “Thank god I started writing honest music. The truth is people only started listening when I started being me.”
Smith has two good songs: Stay With Me – performed as the final encore tonight –and the Beatles-esque I’m Not The Only One. The former’s similarity to Tom Petty is well documented; the other one mostly sounds good because of the canny way it evokes Gnarls Barkley’s genuinely stunning Crazy.
Before an authenticity-drenched Latch (just Smith and a very ornate piano-line), he says: “I was sick of hearing songs on the radio I couldn’t relate to and so I decided to write my own.” Songs without any studio or live trickery – except for the eight other musicians up there in support and the soft rock synthetic guitar solos that sporadically break out.
“This next song I wrote after I finally deleted the guy’s number off my phone. I didn’t want to do anything but my team said I had to get into the studio and I’m so glad I did.” Don’t cross Smith or you’ll be hearing about it for the rest of your life. Also, team? He got his first manager at the age of 12, he says.
“I want to see every single person clapping their hands.” Sorry Smith, it just ain’t going to happen.
- Sam Smith plays Sydney (27 and 28 April), Melbourne (30 April), Adelaide (1 May) and Perth (4 May)
