Watch this old-fashioned star eclipse his boy-band persona
Harry Styles Electric Ballroom, London NW1 ★★★★★
Ten minutes before Harry Styles was due to begin his most intimate gig since 2017, and all that could be heard was the contents of my parents’ record collection: Bohemian Rhapsody,
Maggie May and more lethargic skeins of blues guitar rippled over the lucky 1,500 fans politely waiting at Electric Ballroom for the One Direction runaway.
To witness such palpable excitement hushed by these relics was strange, but on-brand for Styles circa 2019. He’s been dedicated to a Seventies aesthetic lately. Those tumbling locks are shorter, but he’s been promoting his second album,
Fine Line, in knitted tank-tops and braces, waistbands skimming his navel.
But what emerged on stage, at this hastily announced, album-promoting show (also Styles’s first with his new material, and last of the year), was actually a very modern pop artist.
Styles skitters through genres, covers and eras with the easy charm of a matinee idol, reflecting the pick-and-mix approach to music that streaming has granted both him and his equally millennial fans. You like hip-hop? Sure. Let’s serve it with a side of blues.
Fine Line is a pleasant-enough dollop of contemplative, shimmering folk-pop, inspired heavily by Joni Mitchell (Styles, like her at a similar age, moved to California, got high, made songs about heartbreak). But a gig that started as full-album playback ended in a remarkably cogent cover of American diva Lizzo’s Juice and a guest appearance from Stormzy, the UK’S most prominent rapper.
The next day, the two men – former chart-toppers both – would learn whose sophomore album would enter the charts at Number One. But here they put rivalry aside and performed together. Styles echoed Stormzy’s infamous declaration, “F--- Boris” – the first instance of the One Direction star voicing any political viewpoint in public at all. Stormzy, meanwhile, took the opportunity to crown Styles “not a pop star – an artist”.
It was a genuinely surprising guest slot (those are rare, in the days of marketing-heavy label tie-ups), and it epitomised Styles’s ethos: “treat people with kindness” being the mantra emblazoned across his merchandise. Here we were, on the cusp of a new decade, and our most prominent pop heart-throb was blending good manners with songs about lust and loss. As Stormzy proclaimed, “What chart battle?”
Styles was 16 when he first appeared on X Factor and everything changed overnight. Now 25, little hangovers remain from this adolescence spent in the spotlight: he rattled out stage-patter catchphrases that could belong to a much older star, sang Happy Birthday to fans near the front and encouraged different bits of the crowd to cheer on demand. He has, after all, done four world arena tours.
But it doesn’t seem to have done him any harm. He shoulder-shook and air-thrusted around the stage like a gleeful wedding guest, custard-cream suit (enormous bell-bottoms, cropped jacket) staying impeccably free of sweat. He seemed like he was genuinely enjoying himself.
Admittedly, Styles is yet to fully lose the sweetness of tone that X Factor viewers relished, but his command of his voice is elegant and muscular. The songs don’t quite bear the weight of this talent, not yet. In recent years, Styles has won comparisons to Jagger and Bowie, their cross-dressing, rock-star sexuality finding a new, millennial model. He’s neither of those – less weird, less raw – but nor is he wildly removed from that style of performing. Watching him ricochet around the stage to Kiki, a debauched fan favourite from his debut, you could just see it: the star eclipsing his former boy band fame.
Styles has been dedicated to a Seventies aesthetic but on stage he revealed himself to be a very modern pop artist