4/29 @ The Palace, Albany

“[Joss Stone’s] voice [was] as rich and full as cream, comforting ears with the mellow lyrics of Tom Petty, Alison Krauss, and Aretha Franklin, the audience swaying along. And just when you thought (in the most wonderful way) she could sing you to sleep, the energy surged and the stage, and house, were up and dancing.”

A sea of Subarus crowded the streets of downtown Albany on the evening of Tuesday, April 29th, and their occupants were building up like static electricity outside of the Palace Theater. They waited, slipping into the building just before the rain and thunder descended. But inside the historic venue of sanguine-colored velvet, gilded ornamentation, and spectacular ceilings, there was a different type of thunder—one that greeted ‘90s folk-rocker and activist Melissa Etheridge and soulful sylph Joss Stone.

Co-headliner Joss Stone entered the stage and took her place on a comfortable-looking seat at center stage, noticeably pregnant but glowing.

“When I booked this tour,” she joked in her Kentish accent, “I didn’t expect to be carrying another person. So I had to make some changes.”

Stone’s voice was as rich and full as cream, comforting ears with the mellow lyrics of Tom Petty, Alison Krauss, and Aretha Franklin, the audience swaying along. And just when you thought (in the most wonderful way) she could sing you to sleep, the energy surged and the stage, and house, were up and dancing.

Her production was coordinated, bright, and fun—the kind of setup and on-stage fervor that makes photographers happy (because let’s be real, unless you’re a masochist, good lighting and performers having a great time on stage are a gift).

The life on stage permeated every body in every seat, and the Palace Theater became a dance floor, people in the aisles, fingers held to plastic cups sweating just enough to be on the cusp of slipping through them. The energy was… happy. Just enough to make you forget the world outside the Palace walls, at least for a little while.

Stone’s energy was infectious, the whole thing earnest and lively. She brought a magnetic stage presence, vibrant dynamic, and colorful production—but her setlist left me wanting. Of 17 songs performed on the roster, only four of them were originals, certainly a disappointment if you came in search of original music. But she even let some of her backup singers showcase their own vocals in a solo—something beautifully unexpected, and uncommon.

Etheridge’s production was more minimal, but that lull allowed for a different kind of concert experience. She put on a fantastic show. While undeniably an aging performer, she sounds almost exactly as she has throughout the years. Her fingers played across the black 12-string, her iconic smoky rasp breathed into every storytelling lyric, the audience passionately singing along to every note like it was a confession.

Etheridge was a very strong vocalist with a great, albeit more reserved, stage presence and production, but a set full of original songs—generating greater connection and passion to the music.

That said, my favorite moment of the Etheridge set was when she seamlessly slipped a little of Chappell Roan’s “Red Wine Supernova” into her hit “I Want to Come Over.” However, I was surprised at how little of the audience seemed to appreciate this acute nod to another queer icon. While Roan’s voice is a lot cleaner, I would have loved to see Etheridge take this opportunity to launch into a full-blown cover of the song—I think her version would have been incredible. “Red Wine Supernova” almost asks for a life of experience between its chords and cords.

Approaching the end of her set, Etheridge explained that the guitar she had brought out for the next song had been a gift from a fan who had passed away recently. The guitar—and “it’s a real nice guitar,” she had said—had been given by the late individual’s family who were in the audience. With his guitar in hand, she launched into “The Shadow of a Black Crow.”

In her encore, “Like the Way I Do,” Etheridge joined her drummer on the riser and together they played together on the kit, a drum solo (I think?) that left me in awe.

For most of the rocker’s set, the audience remained seated. But by the end people were standing and dancing—bodies swayed, hands raised, fingers splayed—but the world still loomed, just outside the Palace doors.

Hours earlier, people arrived just before the rain and thunder, seeking shelter from more than just the weather. They emerged into a pocket of silence—if only for a little while.