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| © Kate Wright |
After over 18 months hidden behind scaffolding with the door policy changed to No hard hat, no entry. Upstairs at Ronnie’s emerged not with a whisper, but with a knowing smile. The roof has been raised, the sight-lines sharpened, the acoustics honed. Where once there was the charm of faded Bohemia, there is now a refined intimacy - warm lighting, crisp sound, and the feeling that every note lands directly in your lap.
The opening night carried that
delicious tension of something reborn. Staff quietly proud. Audience curious.
Musicians ready to christen the space properly.
Enter Dana Masters, her performance – Intimate, Fearless, Joyfully Human.
Taking the stage for her first solo
appearance at Ronnie Scott’s (after a previous charity appearance with another
artist), Masters immediately set the tone: warm, self-deprecating, disarmingly
honest. Northern Irish roots, southern US upbringing, and a storyteller’s
instinct - she has all three in abundance.
With just Cian Boylan at the piano, the set leaned into
intimacy. The absence of a full touring band didn’t create a gap; it created
focus. Boylan’s touch is elastic - sensitive voicings, subtle reharmonisations,
and that rare ability to leave space without losing momentum.
Masters opened with playful,
heart-on-sleeve originals - songs of nervous infatuation, sweaty palms and
“rainbows and butterflies” confessed with a wink. Her phrasing is
conversational but precise; she bends time just enough to make you lean in.
There’s a looseness to her delivery
that belies serious control. She floats above the beat, then locks back in with
effortless authority. The audience - close enough to see her grin at individual
faces - felt part of the show from the first chorus.
The Nashville
Story - So Easy to Forget
One of the evening’s emotional peaks
came via a beautifully told anecdote about Nashville and songwriter Jude
Johnstone. Masters described discovering a song on an old car CD player - tears
interrupting a simple milk run - and knowing she had to reinterpret it.
Her reimagined version of So Easy to Forget was stripped of country polish and recast in
smoky hues. When Freddie Gavita stepped onstage, trumpet in hand, the atmosphere
shifted again.
Gavita doesn’t simply play over a tune;
he converses with it. His tone - burnished, lyrical, never overstated - wrapped
itself around Masters’ vocal like silk. The solo was unhurried, melodic,
entirely in service of the song. It felt less like a guest spot and more like a
blessing on the room itself.
Love Letters
and Audience Choirs
Masters’ Love Letters - diary-like
reflections written on planes and read aloud - could have tipped into
indulgence. Instead, they grounded the performance in authenticity. She spoke
about imagination, about being labelled a “dreamer,” about longing and
distance. Then she sang When I Need You with such tenderness that the room seemed to
hold its breath.
There was playfulness too. A
call-and-response moment (All damn day!)
turned the upstairs crowd into an impromptu backing choir. The laughter was
real, the connection immediate. No one felt coerced; everyone felt included.
Masters’ voice carries a distinctive
blend of soul warmth and jazz elasticity. There is a husk in the lower
register, a bell-like clarity in the upper range, and an instinct for dynamic
shading that keeps even simple melodies emotionally alive.
She is not a showboating vocalist.
Instead, she builds arcs - gently, patiently - so that when the climactic note
arrives, it feels earned rather than displayed.
If downstairs at Ronnie’s offers the
grand theatre of jazz history, upstairs now offers something arguably more
powerful: proximity.
The sound system has been calibrated to
create the illusion that instruments are speaking directly to you, not through
speakers. Lighting flatters without distracting. Every table feels close.
Conversations fall away naturally once the music begins.
For those who remember the old upstairs
- charming but tired - this is a transformation bordering on the revelatory.
The space feels designed for exactly this kind of performance: storytelling
jazz, nuanced arrangements, artists unafraid of vulnerability.
As one departing guest remarked: This will be where people want to be.
He may be right.
Verdict - Opening nights can feel tentative.
This one felt assured.
Dana Masters didn’t simply perform; she
christened the room with warmth, humour and emotional clarity. With Cian
Boylan’s sensitive accompaniment and Freddie Gavita’s luminous trumpet work,
the evening struck that rare balance between polish and spontaneity.
The new upstairs at Ronnie Scott’s is
no longer a construction site. It is, unmistakably, a destination.
And if this is the standard set on
night one, the hottest ticket in town may no longer be downstairs. Glenn Wright
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