Lewis capaldi, wembley arena, review: less boy-next-door than slob-on-the-corner – and the fans adore him

Neil McCormick Music Critic 13 March 2020 1:26pm GMT Does every generation get the pop stars it needs, or the ones they deserve? The ascent of Lewis Capaldi has been confounding to anyone

raised in an era when pop aspired to glamour or otherness. Never before has a major breakout pop idol seemed so determinedly average, not so much the boy-next-door as the slob on the corner,

a gruff busker grubbing for change with an acoustic guitar and a cheeky grin. Lest you think I am being rude, there is no insult you could throw at Capaldi that he hasn’t already tossed at

himself. On the opening night of two shows at Wembley Arena, in front of 12,000 fans, he cheerfully described himself as a “fat bastard from Scotland”. In a lifetime of gig-going, this was

the first pop concert I have attended where the star’s opening gambit was a seven minute discourse about diarrhoea. Galumphing twitchily about the stage, microphone in one hand, Capaldi

joked about his bowel movements in eye popping fashion, cheerfully describing himself as a “superspreader”. Have you ever heard 12,000 people groan in unison? Capaldi warned the front rows

to keep their distance lest they catch a bug every bit as unpleasant as coronavirus. Then he sang another weepy ballad about a tender heart scorned and the whole arena sang along, swaying in

romantic rapture. That is Capaldi’s peculiar niche, pitched between studenty stand-up and sensitive singer-songwriter, Wee Willie Krankie with the soul of a poet. And you know what the

strangest thing of all is? It works. Capaldi has charisma to burn and a voice that could batter down a fortress. His songwriting (accomplished, in the modern fashion, with teams of jobbing

co-writers) is not remotely original, but it is melodically lavish, structurally solid and emotionally true. He has two speeds – slow and slower – and one subject: his achy breaky heart. In

our over-connected age, when every kid with a social media account masquerades as a legend in their own timeline, Capaldi fulfils a contrary craving for authenticity. He represents the

triumph of the ordinary even though the truth is he is deeply weird, a fidgety misfit who jokes to cover insecurity, then bellows his pain like a drunk after closing time. He’s what you

might get if Ed Sheeran and Adele abandoned a lovechild to be raised by Kevin Bridges in the backroom of a Scottish pub. Capaldi really doesn’t have much nuance as a singer, certainly in

live performance, with a tendency to go flat in his low range or to just batter his way through to his falsetto. But his songs are robust enough to withstand over-emoting and capture the

trials of young love as well as anyone ever has. Those raised on Elvis, Bowie, Prince, Madonna or Lady Gaga might sniff at his pedestrian pop charms, but neither Capaldi nor his audience

give a damn, as long as they can link arms and sing their tender hearts out. LEWIS CAPALDI RETURNS TO WEMBLEY TONIGHT AND PLAYS ABERDEEN P&J LIVE ARENA ON SUNDAY. TICKETS: 

TICKETMASTER.CO.UK