There was one point during his Thursday show in Detroit during which Sam Smith seemed like he might actually still be lonely. After all, he had announced his recent break-up at a show in Toronto just two days earlier. He was singing the tender album cut “Good Thing” and had everyone in the audience wondering if the song’s lyrics (“Too much of a good thing, won’t be good for long / Although you made my heart sing, to stay with you would be wrong”) had almost become too real, considering his presumably still-open wounds.
But, as the song came to a close and the audience’s screaming reached new heights, Smith couldn’t help but flash his signature 100-watt smile. It’s impossible to be lonely with that much enthusiastic, unrelenting support.
Smith’s rise to the top echelons of pop music has been meteoric. After he performed on “Saturday Night Live” last March, he has had a string of hits of his own (“Stay With Me,” “I’m Not The Only One”) that capitalized on the success of a couple of high-profile features (Disclosure’s “Latch,” Naughty Boy’s “La La La”). He played to a sold-out crowd at Madison Square Garden earlier this month, which is unheard of for an artist that was virtually unknown less than a year ago. In February, he’s up for six Grammy awards, including Best New Artist, which he’ll almost surely win.
Last May, I saw Sam Smith perform in Amsterdam, Netherlands to a packed house in a venue about a third of the size of the Detroit Masonic Temple. Though the splendor and natural range of his voice was shocking in a way that hadn’t been apparent through my iPod’s earbuds, there was something missing from his physical presence. For all the ways that his voice filled the room — it was truly something I had never experienced before in my entire life — his demeanor was remarkably lacking and timid. He didn’t move around much on stage, and he avoided interaction with the audience.
On Thursday, things could not have been more different. In just over half a year, Smith had turned what had been a major flaw in his potential into a quality that has been instrumental to his success. Between songs he was endearingly bashful. His high-pitched, self-assured speaking voice had everyone in the audience — doe-eyed little girls, tipsy mothers, adoring college students, stoic elderly couples — reeled-in and swooning over his every word.
Throughout his 16-song set, Smith was at the top of his game. Dressed in black and white, he effortlessly went from the lowest of lows (the desperate pleading of “Leave Your Lover” and the heartbreaking accusations of “I’m Not The Only One”) to the highest of highs (the unwavering confidence of “Money On My Mind” and the revengeful scorn of “Like I Can”) without ever showing any signs of burnout after his busy last 12 months. He danced in sync with his backup singers, encouraged crowd engagement and willingly narrated the stories behind his songs.
The emotional high-point of the night came during his three-song encore. “I refused to end my album on a sad note,” he said. “I wanted this next song to be a love letter to my future boyfriend, whoever he may be.”
He then started “Make It To Me” a capella, sitting side-by-side with his backup singers. The moment was memorable in its brutal, no-fuss honesty that paired brilliantly with the song’s hopeful lyrics. It proved that Smith is an open book when it comes to his music. He may not share the most intimate details of his life when he speaks, but it’s OK. His silence is made irrelevant by his lyrics.
Sam Smith is, admittedly, not lonely anymore. He’s content with where he is in life because, even though he may not have found someone to fall in love with yet, if the line of adoring fans that lined up around the block three hours before his show proved anything, there are millions of people around the world that have fallen in love with him.
And that’s company enough for one of the world’s biggest pop stars.