Twenty minutes had passed since a funny-enough comedian left the stage at Mandalay Bay Events Center on Saturday night—and still no Anita Baker. Among the thousands eager to hear the veteran songstress' jazz- and gospel-influenced soul, a crew of Midwestern visitors behind me grew increasingly vocal as the start time moved back and back ...
"I paid good money for these seats. Where the hell is she at?"
Thirty minutes, no Anita.
"She ain't worth all this."
Thirty-five minutes, no Anita.
"She better sing 'I Apologize' when she comes out."
Forty minutes, no Anita.
The lights dim. Claps and yells abound. It's Anita time.
False start!
A few minutes later, finally, Anita, the woman everyone's been waiting for. She grabs the microphone, starts singing and what comes out isn't music; it's like she's singing and chewing at the same time.
"We can't hear her," one disgruntled man yells, hoping she'd hear him.
Do something sound man!
Ten minutes passed before the sound man adjusted the volume, 20 minutes before he finally licked the problem. At last, Baker's soaring contralto, strong and ebullient as ever, reached all corners of the events center. As many woman sang along on her most beloved tunes—"Sweet Love," "Angel," "Giving You the Best That I Got"—it occurred to me that Baker's had a quiet 23 years of consistently good music (10 albums over that time), much like a basketball player can score a "quiet 20 points" (it's only five points each quarter).
Those not won over by Baker's voice were taken in by her showmanship—two-stepping, telling jokes, dialoguing with the crowd, coming back for a two-song encore. By show's end, even the pissed-off fan posse seemed happy.