★★★★☆
The most striking thing about this ambitious, autobiographical song cycle was the simple power of Carleen Anderson’s voice. An American soul singer who found fame in 1990s Britain with the acid jazz pioneers the Young Disciples, Anderson hit notes high enough to make dogs question the meaning of life, followed the most complex of melodies with ease, and captured deep expression without resorting to the vocal gymnastics typical of so many younger singers.
She applied her gift of a voice to Cage Street Memorial, a poetic odyssey that follows her paternal grandfather’s birth in 19th-century Mississippi to her son’s life in present-day Bristol. The music was beautiful throughout, though the narrative of the story was too unclear and lacking in detail to be truly gripping.
Footage from the civil rights era suggested that there would be a reflection on the African-American experience, but chiefly this was about Anderson herself. There were photographs of her as a child, footage of her on stage with James Brown and in the studio with Paul Weller, and a long, repeated sequence of her taking a dip in what looked like a formidably cold Bristol Channel.
Anderson slipped into grandiosity as she intoned about being born to the tune of a grieving dove, and eulogised “the keys of harmony that delivered her from those harsh [childhood] memories”, but the music, with cascading notes from the xylophone player Orphy Robinson and ever-shifting percussion from Crispin Robinson, made up for such overly serious moments of jazz poetry. Playing piano throughout, in her quieter moments Anderson was reminiscent of Nina Simone; when she hit those remarkable high notes she brought memories of the great 1970s soul diva Minnie Riperton. It may have been rather challenging, but it added up to a brave and sophisticated evening of words and music.