Benjamin Clementine Commands With Quietude at Wonder Ballroom

Benjamin Clementine is a commanding presence, and not simply because of his sharp cheekbones and NBA-level height.

The 27-year-old British pianist took the dimly lit stage at the Wonder Ballroom on June 24 wearing a dark pair of slacks, a slender trench and little else. He doesn't wear shoes while playing, nor a shirt, and must balance atop a full-blown bar stool just to ensure his legs have enough room to move as he sits arched over his grand piano. It's a transfixing image, one that recently landed him a spot on Financial Times' list of the 50 best-dressed individuals of 2015.

But his appearance is only part of the equation.

A heavy silence filled the room as he stepped onstage, one that was often cut throughout the performance by the sound of bartenders serving up overpriced drinks, the occasional jangle of keys and my own scribbling. The odd quiet was a rarity for the Wonder, as were the 16 rows of chairs lining the venue's floor and the noticeable lack of a backing band. The Mercury Prize-winner occasionally plays with a drummer, but here, he sat alone.

"Hello, America," Clementine said moments into his set. "It's good to be here, even if it's not quite obvious from my face." It was an apt point, especially given how pensive and focused the musician looks as he plays. "Portland feels peaceful and calm right now."

And that playing. On his debut full-length, At Least for Now, Clementine outfits his beautiful, brooding songs with a plethora of orchestrated strings, drums and subtle textures that whirl around his gifted piano playing. At the Wonder, however, he had no accompaniment, meaning his restless fingers and voice took center stage. This allowed him to stretch songs such as "Condolences" and "Adios" further than expected, as his hands pirouetted from side to side in rhythmic fashion. "Gone," a song about reconciling with the past and moving on, saw the musician stop playing entirely, to indulge in a brief monologue that barely rose above a whisper.

Clementine's staggering tenor and mannerisms often gets likened to Nina Simone, and it's easy to see why. His booming voice is unmistakable, partly because it resonates with a raw sense of sorrow, ecstasy and overall feeling. Even the lone cover he tackled—a hypnotic rendition of Nick Drake's 1969 ode to depression,"River Man"—felt uniquely his. Standout single "London" was just as theatrical, particularly the chorus, when Clementine began to rise from his high stool and shiver with each note and mention of his hometown.

"Anyway, like I said, it's good to be here," he noted again toward the end of his 90-minute performance. "I'm trying to converse. Can't. Awkward. I'll just keep playing." And so he did.

His closing numbers, "I Won't Complain" and "Then I Heard a Bachelor's Cry," truly exemplified what Clementine does so well. The operatic intensity he conveys is contagious, so much so that the faces on the audience members almost mirrored his own as he played, his right cheek catching the light. When he frowned, you frowned. When he smiled, you smiled. He has the remarkable ability to convey what seems like the entire spectrum of human emotion—and to wring that same emotion from all those who watch him.

Willamette Week

Willamette Week’s reporting has concrete impacts that change laws, force action from civic leaders, and drive compromised politicians from public office. Support WW's journalism today.