You can't get much cooler than Cassandra Wilson. Because 'cool' is about not trying to be anything, about complete acceptance of self and situation. Standing on a rug in flowing white gypsy dress with mouth tipped toward the microphone, the first thing Cassandra Wilson does is kick off her shoes in true Mississippi style. Smiling, she moans deep dark notes in that voice that sounds like the bass from a horn section. And the only difference between this, and singing in her living room at home, is that there are three thousand people staring at her.
She's not in the least bit fazed. To her we're just a great mass of darkness that she treats with a strange mixture of warmth and aloofness. "We're gon' ease into this evening, is that alright?" she says on the tail of her opening song, 'Show Me Love', an alluring demonstration of that tranquil, meditative sound for which she's so adored. This lady likes to take her time. Some songs, such as the mesmerising poetry of 'Darkness on the Delta', last for over ten minutes with double bass or guitar solos that go on forever.
Meanwhile Cassy flits around on the rug, running her hands through her thick bleached locks, or has a quiet sit down on the stool away from the lights. These slower numbers have a ritualistic feel, the drummer rubbing his hands together as if evoking spirits, this gorgeous ghost swaying to her own (possibly stoned) beat; and it all ends in a kind of mass hypnosis, the applause emerging from it gradually, picking up volume once we're fully conscious again.
And then there are others, like 'Last Train to Clarksville', where the rhythm kicks up some speed, the lady in white shakes her shoulders with a sassy flow, lets a foot dance lightly up into the air and clicks her fingers.
Always accompanied by a startlingly competent band. Wilson's travels into pure jazz, latin, blues and acoustic pop/rock are expertly guided. One drum solo, whilst our host takes a break off stage, gets positively orgasmic. Each song is beautifully finished down to the last sigh of the bass or rustle of percussion. It's the kind of music that has the power to melt mind and matter.
At the end of the show, after an hour and a half of perfect lullabies, we struggle out of our seats and try to get the legs working again. If Cassandra Wilson were medication, she'd be hailed as a miracle cure for the stresses of 21st Century life.
