Is Jessie Ware Our Adele?
She’s got personal banter, reflective lyrics, and a voice that slices the air. Not enough people are listening to her
Jessie Ware helped get me through the pandemic. Much like Zoom, pitchers of margaritas, and a daily afternoon walk, her album “What’s Your Pleasure?” was on constant play in my headphones, sometimes partaking in those Zooms, pitchers or margaritas, or daily afternoon walks. I’ve been a fan since the early days of her career – her debut album, Devotion, came out in 2012 – but this work was something different. Disco beats, sexy lyrics, her mezzo soprano dancing between a purr and a roar depending on which bridge you caught her.
Of course, I’ve been waiting then for years to see her in concert. I saw her ages ago at the Fillmore in San Francisco, where it was the closing night of her tour for Devotion. I have fuzzy memories of it being a great show, her voice being wonderful — but mostly I remember how real she seemed. Between every song, she bantered with the audience and seemed genuinely surprised that people had even heard of her, much less that she sold out the venue.
“I can’t believe you’re even here!” she said, as people sang her lyrics back to her. I was completely charmed.
When I saw her last week at the Regency Ballroom, I was wondering if that was still the case. It didn’t seem that way at first, where she blasted through five or six songs without stopping. Her set was still small, but now it was themed, built to look like a schmooze-y night club in the late 70s. With the intro of disco to her discography, there were now dancers introduced to her stage. They were distracting in the very best sense, which is to say, they were hot.
And then, she addressed the crowd.
“Oh I love San Fran,” she said (we’ll forgive her for this). “Everyone here is always so nice.”
She then rattled through a couple of people she met – one guy in the street walking his dog; her server at Zuni earlier that afternoon – who then raised their hands in the crowd as she addressed them directly, pulling back personal details from the conversation. She then shared her own (“I’m going to lunch at Contonga tomorrow! And then biking over the Golden Gate Bridge! Tell me, is that quite basic?”) in ways that even Adele could (because, fame) never.
Which is to say – Jessie Ware isn’t nearly as famous as she should be. That show was killer and her music continues to deliver every single time. I was so tickled by the whole event and it reminded me why I love San Francisco so much – it was by far the gayest crowd I’ve been in for an event (I didn’t go to Folsom, so?) since Covid. There was glitter, pearls, eyeliner, crowns, fans (it was about 1,000 degrees in there) and more. But mostly there was joy. I felt something unfolding inside of me during the show and I couldn’t stop smiling the next day (including when I walked by Cotogna, two blocks from my apartment, and sure enough, there was Jessie enjoying lunch.) All to say I feel lucky to have access to this art and what it’s created and pulled out of me, out of others; to have a space where the queer folks can show up fully and safely and dance and love.
And, to laugh. Jessie is as funny as Adele on stage, which makes me think the façade of performance interrupted by the aw shucks personality is more British than anything else. Whatever it is, I love it. Of course I adore Adele but if Jessie Ware is a little slice of that for the gays put to a disco beat, well, go back to the beginning and hit play.