Beth Hart’s April 26 appearance at Fallsview Casino’s OLG Stage was neither a glossy spectacle, nor a parade of greatest hits-it was a night of sensuality, soul-baring and, for many, a kind of group therapy session.
From the outset, Hart’s rapport with the audience was disarmingly candid. She joked about gambling, asked the crowd about their luck, and then pivoted into confessions about her own battles with addiction and family estrangement, setting a tone that was as intimate as it was raw.
The setlist included expected songs like the powerful tribute to the vulnerable, “Don’t Call the Police, delivered with a mix of sultry bravado and aching vulnerability. Hart’s vocals were electrifying, but it was her willingness to expose the cracks beneath the surface that truly resonated.
“Suga n My Bowl” arrived with a story about self-destructive impulses and the struggle for self-acceptance. Hart’s performance was more than just bluesy showmanship; it was a window into her psyche, with every note carrying the weight of lived experience.
The band-Jon Nichols on guitar, Tom Lilly on bass, Bill Ransom on drums-provided understated but vital support, giving Hart space to move from torch singer to confessional poet, often shifting dynamics from a whisper to a wail.
Hart’s banter between songs was equal parts stand-up, group therapy, and philosophical musing. She spoke about gratitude for her husband and parents, despite complicated relationships, and mused on the universal need for support and acceptance-a theme that ran through the night.
“Sugar Shack” injected a playful, almost mischievous energy into the set. Hart’s delivery was all sly glances and knowing smiles, but the groove was tight, and the crowd responded with swaying bodies and appreciative cheers.
There was a notable moment when Hart paid tribute to Melody Gardot, introducing a song as “not a love song,” and reflecting on the darkness that everyone carries. It was a reminder that Hart’s shows are as much about catharsis as entertainment.
The therapeutic quality of the night was reinforced by Hart’s stories of karaoke bars and strip clubs-unlikely places of community and courage, in her telling. She drew parallels between the vulnerability of performers and the bravery of everyday people, making the show feel like a safe space for emotional honesty.
A cover of John Denver’s “Take Me Home, Country Roads” was introduced as a universal singalong, and it landed as a moment of collective release-a brief respite from the heavy themes, but still delivered with Hart’s trademark intensity and sincerity.
Throughout, the audience was rapt, responding not just to the music but to the sense of solidarity Hart fostered. Her gratitude for their presence was palpable, and the crowd’s empathy in return created a feedback loop of mutual support.
In the end, Beth Hart’s OLG Stage concert was not about perfection or polish, but about connection. It was sensual, heart-tugging, and therapeutic-a night where the lines between artist and audience blurred, and everyone left a little lighter for having shared the weight.
All photos by Dan Savoie
