There is no way to know exactly what to expect from Cindy Wilson’s solo set at Hotel Cecil. The B-52s singer released a debut album under her own name late last year that bears more resemblance to Hope Sandoval than new wave party rock. The show starts early, there’s just enough snow on the ground to delay buses and trains, and it’s our first visit to the new venue.
Hotel Cecil has preserved the feeling of Jazzhouse, though the bar now takes up more space. It’s the same intimate feeling, though, which is particularly good tonight because only about 50 people have shown up for the gig. This is the challenge that Wilson has walked out to, but she is instantly buoyant.
It helps that amongst the small crowd that has assembled are some super fans. They are here for Wilson as a solo artist, they know every word to every song on her new album and it’s preceding EPs, and they do not shout requests for B-52s’ songs.
While some of the soft, dreamy vocals of the album make it through, Wilson’s live set is much higher energy. She’s swinging her arms and kicking around, surrounded by a band who grin like they’ve found the best gig in the world. Wilson is manipulating her vocals, twisting knobs, and tacking theremin outros onto almost every song. This feels like the logical place for the woman from the new wave band to be; performing live, it’s clear that Cindy Wilson is still a pop singer, but there is an experimental edge to it. There’s that little bit of weird that endures, that keeps her a safe distance from the blandness that she’s tried to avoid throughout her career, and she’s found it in a way that’s separate from the space and the band that has defined her up to this point.
With all that said, it’s an early night. Everything in Wilson’s solo catalogue only adds up to an hour, and by 21:30 it’s time to go home. Yes that hour was good fun, but maybe an opener on the bill would have fleshed out the evening a bit more.