Billy Valentine & Universal Truth bring the political funk to the fore for stunning Jazz Café performance

When music meets humour something special happens. Billy Valentine and band are living proof. Just as the American vocalist, in a moment of intimacy to sedate the intensity of his performance, tells the audience that he is one of 13 children, guitarist Terry Lewis plays a yearnin’ riff made for good, good lovin’. Marvin Gaye’s ‘Let’s Get It On.’ As laughter erupts Valentine’s acknowledging smile simply tightens the warm embrace in which he is held by the faithful, as well as the hold he has on it.  

The moment is memorable because of priceless qualities the singer has. They go beyond the swish beauty of his voice. Charisma, charm, poise. All night we see the 73 year-old bend down low on stage, direct his gaze directly at the audience on the floor and in the balcony, infuse every song with believable emotional charge rather than a stagey sentimentality. This is an artist who knows about the value of genuine communication as well as technical competence. Valentine is endearing, not fawning. 

His rendition of standards ‘Funny’ and ‘Georgia On My Mind’ makes it clear that this comeback gig, which cements the impact of the album Billy Valentine And The Universal Truth, is a reminder that Valentine is of the post-war generation of African-American singers for whom the line between R&B, blues, soul and jazz was continually crossed. In that respect Ray Charles is Valentine’s key role model and the finesse of his phrasing, the movement between sensitive restraint and emphatic release, marks his winning takes on Gil Scott-Heron’s ‘Lady Day And John Coltrane’ and ‘Home Is Where The Hatred Is’, and Marvin Gaye’s ‘What’s Going On.’    

Valentine uses American musicians for the album but the UK combo assembled for this gig, which has also accompanied him in Europe, comprises players who made a significant contribution to ‘the Acid Jazz years’, backing the likes of Galliano among others. Drummer Crispin ‘The Pump’ Taylor, bass guitarist Ernie McKone, pianist-keyboardist Graham Harvey and guitarist Lewis are skilled at the science of keeping things ‘in the pocket’, nailing an arrangement yet finding moments for a short fill or stretching a phrase by a few beats so as to create a spontaneity and fluidity that are in line with similar manoeuvres from Valentine. It’s neither too much nor too little.   

The balance is an art. Stax, Motown and Hi had it. And the Brits make it work with an extra notch of funk on a starkly aggressive run through Prince’s ‘Sign Of The Times; on which the Taylor-Mckone backbeat pounds its way into life, while Lewis and Harvey, who are both the designated chief soloists of the evening, underline the harmony without overloading it. Eddie Kendricks’s hymnal ‘My People Hold On’ also has a heavier anchor than is the case on the original, and with an audience chorus thrown in, Valentine conspires to turn the venue into a makeshift church that is also suited to the roar of the gospel standard ‘Wade In The Water.’ Soberly dressed in black, his glasses and salt white hair bestowing natural gravitas, Valentine is as much community leader as he is preacher, and when he stops to drop a word or two on the whole context of the new music, namely the advent of covid and his need to move away from comfort in the world of film and TV work and produce something relevant to the times, he bonds further with the crowd. An artist since the mid-1970s Valentine remembers first-hand the flood of protest music that poured out of black America and his vibrant current output is decisively informed by a comparable social conscience.   

With that in mind no song is more on point than ‘Money’s Too Tight To Mention’, the startling 1982 classic he made with his late brother John, that, when covered by Simply Red, became the essential soundtrack to the misery of the Thatcher – and Reagan – years. In 2023, when a PM with millions in the bank brings cloth ears to the screams of pain of ordinary people who are grappling with a cost of living crisis the lyrics feel as if they were made for HS2 debacles rather than British Rail sell-offs.

Perhaps symbolically, Valentine wrings every once of political funk out of the line ‘we’re talking about economics’, while the audience is there with him on every word.  

The whole gig is a show of strength from a man who is something of an indefatigable force, a soul survivor. Indeed when he rises to the mighty challenge of Sam Cooke’s ‘A Change Is Gonna Come’ it is easy to believe that it’s true, at least for one night.