Tony Momrelle (vocals); Emiliano Pari (keys, piano, vocal); David D'Andrade (guitar, vocals); Julian Crampton (bass guitar); Alessio Wildes Barelli (drums); Massimo Orselli (perc,)
On what was arguably the hottest day of the year so far, London had spilt out onto the pavements. Soho was alive in the way that only it can be: pub doors thrown open, bars humming, coats long gone, replaced by shorts, T-shirts and the easy colour of a city remembering summer. Drink flowed, conversations drifted, and the heady scent of Chinatown hung in the warm evening air. And there it was again - that reminder of what Soho really is.
Not just a postcode, not just a night
out, but the vibrant epicentre of jazz in this country. It’s all still there,
just under the surface; you only need to look for it. At the centre of it all
sits Ronnie Scott's Jazz Club - still the beating heart of the UK jazz scene -
and upstairs, in that intimate room, the kind of space where music doesn’t just
play, it settles into you.
Tony Momrelle understands that space
instinctively. His time with Incognito and as part of Sade’s live world has
shaped that - not just vocally, but in how he builds a night. There’s no rush
to it. No need. Just a sense of allowing things to unfold.
There was no grand entrance, no easing
into it. It simply began - and once it did, it didn’t stop. The first four
songs - Pick Me Up, This Isn’t Love, Best Is Yet to Come, and All I
Need - came one straight after the other. No break, no introduction, no
conversation. Just music. It created a momentum that pulled the room in before
anyone quite realised it, the night already in motion before it had a chance to
settle.
And All I Need sits right at the centre of that opening statement. On the surface, it’s a song about being down - about feeling lost, out of love, unsure where the next step will come from. But it never lingers there. A light remains, however faint, something to move towards, something to hold onto.
That’s the thread that runs through so much of Momrelle’s music. He doesn’t ignore the darker moments - they’re there, clearly felt - but he never allows them to define the outcome. There’s always a shift, a turn, a sense of perspective. Even in This Isn’t Love, where the emotional tension sits close to the surface, or in Best Is Yet to Come, where optimism is worn a little more openly, there’s that same instinct at work: to find something positive within the negative.
The band were integral to that from the outset - not just accompanying, but shaping the direction of the night. Emiliano Pari on keys, fluid and instinctive. Julian Crampton anchors everything with quiet authority. Alessio Wildes Barelli controlling the dynamics with precision. And then there was David D'Andrade. His playing never demanded attention, but it was always there - subtle, textural, adding colour where it mattered. It’s that kind of playing that works in a room like this.
But when the moment came, he took it.
At the midpoint of the evening, during
Different Street, everything shifted. The groove settled into something deeper,
more reflective.
And then the guitar stepped forward.
What followed was a solo that unfolded slowly,
almost tentatively at first - atmospheric, searching - before building, layer
by layer, into something far more urgent. Over the course of four minutes, it
carried the room with it, moving from restraint to release, from quiet phrasing
to something altogether more tumultuous by the time it resolved.
It wasn’t just a solo. It was a moment - and the room knew it.
That same sensitivity carried through
into Love, Love, Love, the homage to Donny Hathaway, where the guitar sat
deeper in the arrangement, less about expression, more about feel.
It also speaks to the collaborations
that have shaped Momrelle’s journey - not least his work with Natalie Williams.
Their live album Back Together Again, recorded here at Ronnie
Scott's Jazz Club, carries that same sense of space and shared understanding.
By the time he reached All the Things
You Are, the phrasing opened out, the room fully with him.
When he turned to the music that shaped him, it came as a quiet nod - introducing a composition by Stevie Wonder, written for Carl Anderson - and slipping into Buttercup.
Then the mood shifted. Before Remember, he paused - and for the first time, let the room into the story behind the song. He spoke about writing for what he considers his debut album, wanting a piece that carried everything within it - momentum, pushing forward, overcoming obstacles, breaking through barriers. A song that could hold all of that.
And then life caught up with it.
Loss, uncertainty, things that didn’t
quite have answers - and suddenly the song had somewhere to come from. Not
polished, not forced, but necessary. A song of hope, he said. For anyone going
through something. For anyone carrying something.
And then he sang it.
Stripped back, piano from Emiliano Pari,
alone beneath him.
The silence was palpable. Conversations
stopped completely, glasses held mid-air, the usual hum disappearing almost
entirely. For a moment, it felt like the whole place was holding its breath.
From there, Different Street released
that tension, before We Can Have It All brought the room back together.
Spotlight lifted things again, before
it Will Be Alright closed the set, to an audience entirely in the palm of
Momrelles hand.
And then, the release.
The encore - Another Star - needed no invitation.
The room found it instantly. La la la la la…
And suddenly, it wasn’t just a gig
anymore.
The room shifted. What had been a
collection of low lit tables and conversations became something else entirely -
a room full of strangers, drawn together in a shared moment of pure joy. No
politics, no religion, no race. Just humanity at its best - a collective
release, voices rising together, instinctively, without thought.
For a while, nothing else mattered.
Just the music… and the space it
created.
By the end, that same room that had sat in silence was on its feet. Dancing, clapping, singing - an impromptu choir lifting the roof.
Uncharacteristic, perhaps.
But happening more and more in this
space above Ronnie Scott's Jazz Club.
From stillness… to release.
From a room holding its breath… to one
that lets go completely.
And somewhere in that shift, that same
thread remained - that even in the darker moments, there is something to reach
for.
No grand statement. No need.
Just a room, a band, and a moment that connected everything in it. Glenn Wright
No comments :
Post a Comment