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Ms Dynamite, Brixton Academy, London

It's all smiles for the roly-poly role model

Simmy Richman
Sunday 04 May 2003 00:00 BST
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Wherever you have been watching her meteoric rise from, right now, Ms Dynamite is so unbelievably likeable, so glowing with creative light, that she was never going to let the small matter of her pregnancy stop her from loving this, her first full-length concert. At just 22-years-old, the artist formerly (or rather, formally) known as Niomi McLean-Daley is experiencing one of those rare golden moments that only performers with an embarrassment of talent, a pure heart and the support of people who love them ever witness – think Stevie Wonder and Bob Marley in their 1970s heydays and Lauryn Hill before she found God and lost the plot.

At Brixton Academy, you couldn't help but smile and wave and move your feet as her band switched from syncopated baroque R&B beats to stripped down acoustic guitars and double bass. And we were all – black, white, male, female, young, old, gay, straight, Christian, Muslim, Jew, Sikh (I swear to you: a turban. At a gig. In Brixton. And why not?) – just happy to be there in her company. Along with her crystal-clear vocal delivery, it is this reaching out across barriers that is Ms Dynamite's strongest asset. When she urges the lay-deez in the crowd to grab their men, and the men in the crowd to grab their lay-deez, the lesbian couple next to me harrumph audibly. Never mind, they are soon won over again, hugging each other; pulled along by the inescapable tide of warm feeling that makes you realise just what a special performer Ms Dynamite is.

Coming just a couple of weeks after those torrid tabloid tales that desperately attempted to link a couple of gangland shootings to a showcase by Lisa Maffia (along with Ms Dynamite, a musical associate of the So Solid Crew), this generosity of love is particularly appealing. Honestly, pulling out a gun at this concert would be as incongruous as taking Yoko Ono to see Paul McCartney. With no airs or graces, she treats the whole event as if she is playing in a tiny club to a bunch of friends – which is all the more amazing when you consider that this was her first full-length gig.

She may have been weighed down by Mobos, Brits and Mercury awards, but tonight, Ms Dynamite is labouring under the heaviness in her belly – she is six months' pregnant and has to take frequent stage breaks as the little nipper is kicking almost as hard as her four-piece backing band. Never mind, though, her brother Kingslee – one of 10 siblings – is only too happy to fill the gaps with his verbal dexterity (obviously something that runs in the family). So Ms Dynamite plays "Brother" and without so much as an introduction, there he is. One man and a DJ raring to rock the house.

His sister's material is mostly culled from that multi-award winning debut album, A Little Deeper, but it is enriched by Ms Dynamite's genuine enthusiasm and belief in every word. At a time when a pair of shoes can cost you £1m, Ms Dynamite provides the perfect antidote to the shallow must-have bling culture: As she says in her show-stopping, breakthrough hit, "It Takes More" – "Tell me how many Africans died/ For the baguettes on your Rolex/ We leave this world alone/ So who gives a fuck about the things you own/ Certainly not me/ Certainly not me/ 'Cause baby personally/ I like to be challenged mentally."

Ms Dynamite may have to dig a little deeper to remain this touchingly unaffected as she prepares to balance motherhood with the pressures of Stateside attention and difficult-second-album syndrome. If she can pull all that off, north London may have truly given the world a star worthy of that so-often-misused label. For now, the roly-poly role model fully deserves to put her feet up.

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