Gavin James at The Velvet Underground

Photo by Rick Clifford (2015).

Few artists are bold enough to unplug and swap their stage for the floor. Even fewer would do so one song into their set. Wednesday night at The Velvet Underground, Gavin James did both. Ballsy? Sure. But when you own your audience the way James does, the move feels like a no- brainer.

Crooning his version of Ray Charles’ “You Don’t Know Me”, the Irish singer-songwriter looked comfortable in the centre of a captivated crowd during the only Canadian date of his fall tour, which promoted his 2015 studio debut Bitter Pill. With the neck of his guitar tipped up, hovering over heads like a flag, James seemed fully aware that the audience was open real estate and the territory was his.

The Dublin-born musician boasts a repertoire of acoustic pop ballads, mostly tales of heartbreak, nostalgia, and a healthy dose of unrequited love. The music mimics past tour mates, having opened for the likes of Ed Sheeran and Sam Smith. Its simplicity and familiarity are nothing new. From “22”, a quiet yearning for better days that reads like a teenage diary, to “Nervous”, a declaration of things unsaid by the ever-losing nice guy, James’ catalogue, although predictable, is undoubtably universal. The Toronto crowd – a curious mix of swooning millennials and au courant 40-something’s – was a prime example of his relatability personified.

At the first lines of his opening number, “Till the Sun Comes Up”, the rowdy room quieted fast – almost eerily so – and it became clear that this crowd showed up to shut up. The source of silence? Without a doubt, James’ stand-alone vocal chops.

His voice serves to separate him from others in his genre, which has risen to chart popularity in recent years through acts like Sheeran and Vance Joy. This Toronto set – James’ first in the city with his “name on the sign” – was a velvety smooth showcase of his choice instrument. To say he sings like an angel is, in this case, a cliché worth using. With an infinite range that seamlessly belted and breathed, James used his six-string as a mere supporting role and allowed the delivery of his lyrics to take centre stage.

Fans on Wednesday night were most likely pleased to hear this version of James’ set, one that echoed his 2015 one-man-band concert album Live at Whelans, in lieu of a Bitter Pill re- creation. This studio debut, although enlisting the same popular songs from Whelans, was an overproduced masking of his delicate vocals with 808 noise, disproportionate pop synths, and even an incomplete grasp at gospel. His performance at the Underground proved that the magic of James’ music exists within the autonomous vulnerability of a man and his mic in real time.

What’s more? James was as cheeky as you’d imagine any Irishman to be. His banter with the audience, both foul-mouthed and candid, was at the heart of his appeal. Although bashful in the face of “I love you”’s, his witty responses and spot-on impressions of Bob Dylan and Louis Armstrong practically alluded to an unrealized career in stand-up comedy. And the crowd not only ate it up, they spit it right back at him. Clearly, this was just as much a conversation as it was a concert.

But once the music returned, every voice in the venue went mute except one. It was a rare and humbling experience. Gavin James, with a performance both boyish and raw, managed to bring that rarity to life.