Usher is proof that select talent never slows down. It’s been over 20 years since the release that would set him as a multi-generational R&B icon, 2004’s Confessions, with last years’ landmark anniversary bringing his star back into heavy circularity. With that, he has certainly been around — there was a Vegas run (an immense 100 shows) as well as a hailed Super Bowl performance, famously adding an extra two minutes on the time to account for his catalogue. In all, reputation would suggest the 46-year-old has stamina difficult to achieve without the means of illicit substances, divine intervention or supernatural strength.
And with the first night of 10 shows to be performed at London’s O2 Arena, it’s expected that everything will be extra. Crowds are an unsurprising mix of older couples, twenty-somethings merely conceived in his early noughties heyday, and middle aged gaggles of women, all screaming like teenage girls. Though many will be here mainly seeking the hits of his magnum opus, it’s unclear if guests understand the sheer extent of his catalogue. Dubbed the ‘Past Present Future’ Tour, the artist proposes a night where he will channel that nostalgia to take him through tracks from his nine studio albums. The only query is on what he will select.
Notably an Energizer bunny of a performer, he proceeds to spend slightly over two hours in constant motion, skills speaking to an era where vocals were performed sans backing track, and singers honed breath control on treadmills. The show opens with a 2001: Space Odyssey-esque theme: a takeover from a slightly rogue computer-time machine hybrid, flicking through clips of the singer in childhood and transporting us through his career.
Gracing the stage in a glittering suit harking to a much compared music figure of Michael Jackson, he addresses the crowd: “This is my story – past, present, and future.” Raymond certainly knows his audience: he opens with Hey Daddy: Daddy’s Home, a maybe cheeky nod to the swarms of attendees lapping up his sex appeal. The show certainly makes use of computer graphics, if not too extensively; a generated version of a babyfaced Usher dances through hits like Think of You, leading to the artist’s return to stage, belting out late 90’s hits like U Make Me Wanna and U Remind Me. An expected highlight is some incredible dancing; dancers pull off gravity-defying acrobatics, incorporating iconic routines from the artist’s video archive.
His regional heritage of Atlanta will feature much throughout the night too. Unbelievably, the artist reappears now on roller skates; flanked by dancers and decked in costumes by way of designer Mowalola Ogunlesi, the artist pulls us through a medley of regional classics – Back That A** Up by Juvenile, leading into Glorilla’s TGIF. Wisely piquing interest before doling out fan favourites later, we are treated to what might be one of the most technically impressive things to be seen on the O2 stage, as Usher and co whizz around the venue on wheels, stretching into splits, backflipping, all whilst his breath control remains formidable.
A series of strange, yet deliciously camp outfits adorn the artist throughout the night; a leather motorcycle set, a Superfly-era wooly mammoth fur coat, and one getup consisting of a series of bedazzled belts starting from the waist down. But of course, the singer spends most of the night topless. Each discarded clothing item elicits enduring squeals from the audience, doubled with his grinding, writhing and gyrating on stage. It particularly sets off songs like Nice and Slow, as well as the unbelievable highlight of U Got It Bad, which could have had the room confused for a choir.
Still, the show can feel somewhat disjointed. It’s maybe the result of the sheer extent of his catalogue – certain moments feel oddly placed, and it seems that it can’t decide which era it wants to be in at a time. See: the artist holding a dialogue on fatherhood with multi-age versions of himself, and later, a medley of strip club-friendly songs played whilst the artist pours faux shots and throws money on pole dancers. It seems it pulls heavily from its Vegas run in its stylistic details; its excellent cinematography, seeing camera panning on the big screen akin to a live music video recorded in real time. But there are certainly Nevada-variety gags, too; particularly, the recurring presence of an animated couple having vigorous sex on screen, which feels slightly cartoonish.
But as always, he pulls it back. We take a trip to what looks like the 70s Motown era where he brings forward an uber-harmonious 8 piece band, working in wisely-chosen album cuts and classics like Superstar (Interlude) and the enduring There Goes My Baby. It is musicianship at its finest, and you can tell he is particularly enjoying himself. The slowed down renditions give the audience retro soul of the Isley Brothers variety, and in a decidedly camp act, he selects women from the audience to feed them cherries, at one point traversing the venue to drop them in women’s mouths. The smirk on Raymond’s face tells us he knows exactly what he’s doing — the fantastically cheeky gag sets the crowd alight.
High sex factor can be an iffy concept to pull off in this climate. But with Usher, it never feels creepy. The King of R&B harnesses sex appeal, but also personality and masterful performance to make us as audience feel like we’re in on it. As he closes on his David Guetta feature Without You (a questionable choice considering the power of previous track Yeah!) he reminds us that even after 30 plus years of relevancy, good performance will reign supreme.
