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At one point during her triumphant phones-free show at Brooklyn’s Kings Theater, Jill Scott takes a moment to introduce Dwayne Wright, her bass player and co-musical director who is known to his friends, the queen of Philly soul informs the 3,000-strong audience, as the “pussy whisperer”. The crowd cracks up, but she’s not done. “I want you to close your ears and listen with your vagina,” she instructs, as Wright launches into a deep, toe-curling run on his instrument. “Kegel to the music!” she whoops. “You come to a Jill Scott concert and you become a virgin again.”
Perhaps Scott is emboldened by the no phones policy tonight; ours were stashed in Yondr pouches upon entry à la recent Jack White and Phoebe Bridgers concerts. But the emotionally attuned, pointedly political and proudly horny soul singer probably doesn’t need any help in getting loose. Despite my initial grumbles, the technology ban turned out to be an inspired decision in an evening that felt deeply connected, as if we were at a summer block party hosted by the neighborhood’s most charismatic character.
The invitation to come closer was mirrored by Scott’s stage set: a yard sale outside an A-frame house, with a mishmash of cardboard boxes labeled “Ugliness” “Clutter” and “Self doubt” all packed up and ready to go. “Welcome to my house!” Scott exclaims, wearing the first of a half-dozen towering headwear options she rotates through tonight. “In my house I do whatever the fuck I want to.”
That sense of self-sovereignty has been clear since Scott emerged in 2000 with Who Is Jill Scott?: Words and Sounds Vol 1, her Grammy-nominated debut album that put a distinctive, personality-packed stamp on neo-soul with its blend of round the way street smarts and jubilant sensuality. Those qualities merge in tonight’s euphoric The Way, a baby-making anthem that chronicles a day spent in fervid anticipation of the night to come, where even her breakfast of toast, scrambled eggs and “grits” – screamed back at her by the crowd – seems like foreplay for “nasty, freaky” liaisons. The 2004 ode to self-pleasure Cross My Mind is stretched to tantric proportions as Scott grabs her erogenous zones and trembles with pleasure against the mic stand, before going into Minnie Riperton flutters as she trills, “kiss this / and this / and this / and this.” “Some of us watch too much porn,” she informs us soon after. “People on those screens are getting paid to fuck … Passion, it’s got a different rhythm.”
Real-talking moments and off-the-cuff showmanship are frisky bedfellows with Scott’s incredible vocal abilities. “Maybe we can roll a tree,” Scott scats on A Long Walk, miming smoking a joint before fluidly trading off lines with her slick backing vocalists Freeman, a trio styled as beatnik cool cats in sunglasses and black berets. Elsewhere, she tips her hat to “ancestors” in the smoky jazz cut Offdaback, where she is framed by projections of James Baldwin and Billie Holliday. Liftin’ Me Up continues the dialogue with an extended outro that interpolates Jackie Wilson’s 1967 R&B classic (Your Love Keeps Lifting Me) Higher and Higher, fueled by the exuberant brass section of her phenomenal six-piece band.
At times, Scott seems overcome by the rapturous audience response. “This is love,” she says, seeming a little misty-eyed before she launches into the juke joint blues of Pay U on Tuesday. “You’ve been listening to my music for 26 years. You’ve raised your children, and you’ve made your children.”
Most infectious of all is her energy: throughout the 90-minute show the singer beams from ear to ear, sometimes at her saucy jokes or audience antics but most often, it seems, in reaction to what must be the sheer pleasure of her supernova singing voice. Scott is 54, she reminds us, and her mighty instrument has rarely sounded better. Her belt is effortlessly resonant in Beautiful People, a track from her recent album To Whom It May Concern that seems to bottle sunshine. She extends her arms to the audience and throws them up to the heavens as she invites everyone to sing as she throws herself into gospel-inspired ad libs. “My beautiful people!” she belts. “Thrivin’, shinin’, people!” It’s impossible to not feel her glow.
English (US) ·