Generally speaking, there are two kinds of B.B. King fan: to blues buffs he's the avuncular, rotund man who has written the textbook on post-war electric blues, the big guy in the shiny jacket who is as much a masterful guitarist as he is a wise-cracking entertainer. To contemporary rock fans, he's the elderly bluesman who stole U2's When Love Comes To Town and refused to give it back to them. At the Point Theatre last night, there was a healthy mixture of fan types and age groups, the blues crossover writ large.
Prefaced by his eight-piece revue band brandishing the instrumental full monty - and not being particularly shy or retiring about it - 72-year-old King walked onstage to a standing ovation, something I've never seen before at this venue. He proceeded to be all things to most blues fans: the quicksilver guitarist whose fingers have not yet been allowed to seize up, the eminent host with a foghorn of a voice that can screech and moan in turn, and perhaps the most engaging black performer this side of Louis Armstrong.
While forays into the surging stomp of semi-big band blues was never less than enjoyable, it was King's blues ballads that had the crowd gasping with appreciation. His signature tune, The Thrill Is Gone, topped the bill. An old Roy Hawkins tune that started life as a pleasant ballad, it was virtually ignored by King for years. Now transformed into one of those classic heavy-lidded, sexy/ mournful (delete where applicable) blues songs, it soared unaided into the rafters. Many people in the audience just couldn't believe their luck in hearing such a version.
The irony, of course, is that B.B. King's live shows haven't changed in decades (his records are somewhat more exploratory), so it's likely he plays the same way each night, says the same things at the same point in the set list, and structures the show around similar parameters and limitations. Thinking about it sensibly, this matters little.
For someone who began his blues career in Mississippi as an outsider and innovator, King is now a veritable worldwide institution. As such, he engenders a requisite form of acclaim. Yet there's dignity, humour and a reciprocal respect on his part, an indication that he doesn't take his status as Patriarch of the Blues too seriously.
"B.B. King is in town", he said at the beginning of this immensely enjoyable concert. He was, too. The thrill is gone, but definitely not forgotten.
