Benjamin Clementine

We’re back in the courtyard of Somerset House, where Benjamin Clementine headlines the final night of its Summer Series. The stage is framed by simple white curtains, as Clementine appears, shirtless in his trademark long black trenchcoat. Between his outfit, the venue, the set dress, the weather and his slow purposeful movements, it’s all far too pristine to be at something that may technically be defined as a festival.

Save for a slow small bow and shuffling of notes, he breaks immediately into breakout hit ‘Cornerstone’. The song tells of his youth and homelessness in Paris as a teenager, “alone in a box of (his) own”. Usually, an artist opening with their biggest song falls flat. The crowd can’t be forced into being moved or energised instantly, and they need time to warm up. However, with a song and performance so undeniably powerful, it seems to stun everyone into a silence which remains throughout most of the show, only interrupted by birdsong, the quiet rattling of flags and the ambient noise of central London.

Clementine doesn’t talk to the crowd much at first, only to himself. “Back to basics, Benjamin”, seemingly his mantra. The crowd quietly singing ‘I Won’t Complain’ in this atmosphere has a haunting feel. Though most of the show is solo piano, the band expands to a seven-piece with strings and woodwind for ‘Nemesis’ and a shortened ‘Phantom of Aleppoville’. There’s a set-highlight rendition of ‘Winston Churchill’s Boy’ in this form, the woodwind combining with the visuals to evoke the cult creepiness of black-and-white folk horror.

There’s a false start for ‘London’, as he tells someone in the wings to “shut up”. There is an odd duality to Clementine, clearly a very intense man, but also quite cheeky in his crowd interactions. He has no qualms light-heartedly telling the crowd they’re singing along wrong. Most notably during ‘Jupiter’, where after a good four or five attempts at instigating a singalong, with Clementine attempting to teach each line as it comes, the idea is abandoned so he can do it properly himself. Maybe leave the crowd choir stuff to Jacob Collier.

But while that style of crowd interaction does lack any real artistry, his next attempt is more bold. “Nothing is final, everything is going to be fine”, he sings as a call-and-response, telling us that’s the first of 50 and he’ll be counting down. Laughs at first, “49”, more laughs, “48”, fewer laughs. He really does count down for around 15 minutes, as audience interest wanes and occasionally revives, before coming back strong for the last few. Like a hypnotic dance track or a Stewart Lee joke, repetition works to build towards euphoria, but I’m not sure his experiment in this form works so well.

Still, it’s no major detraction from a powerfully intense performance.