144. Lionel Ritchie

The O2 Arena

2 July 2016

Let’s get one thing straight: this was not supposed to happen. Not this gig. Not this crowd. Not this miraculous convergence. But here we are me, my wife, my best mate and his better half, in one venue, on one night, watching Lionel bloody Richie. It's a four-way, Venn diagram alignment rarer than a Smiths reunion in a butcher shop.

You expect Lionel to be smooth, soulful, maybe a bit Sunday Brunch in energy. What you don’t expect is for him to drop “Running with the Night” like he’s been mainlining Prince B-sides and Red Bull. The man’s 60-something, going on eternal and working the stage like it owes him child support.

By the time he hits “Hello”, the O2’s weeping into their prosecco and lighting their phones up, singing along like they haven’t heard it as the hold music on countless calls to BT to get their WIFI fixed. “Three Times a Lady” has my wife clutching my arm, and even my best mate, who normally wouldn’t admit to owning feelings, starts singing along. Given his and my last gig, last night, was in Hyde Park watching the existential, dub-doom of Massive Attack, this is about as polar opposite as it gets.

Lionel does the whole thing: the Commodores funk, the solo smashes, the soft-focus ballads that sound like they were genetically engineered for first dances and final slowies at school discos. And somehow, he sells it all. No irony. No ego. Just warmth, showmanship, and a voice smoother than a brandy-soaked Barry White.

It ends, of course, “All Night Long”, a track so universally joyous it could broker peace talks in war zones. And for once, everyone’s dancing. This Venn diagram isn’t just overlapping, it’s bloody boogieing.