I saw the future of soul music last night at Neumo’s in the form of pasty-faced Brit Jamie Lidell. In a performance that made D’Angelo and other neo-R&B lovermen seem quaint and obsolete, Lidell nonchalantly reinvented the genre for the new millennium. Everybody in the house seemed to be really feeling it. I’ve been clubbing for 26 years, and this show ranks in my top 10 of all time.

With his gear lost in transit, Lidell borrowed some equipment (an MPC perhaps, but no laptop) and sang into two mics. He had a white towel draped around his neck like a (beat)boxer and rocked some old-school, Woody Allen Wayfarer specs. With the gregarious demeanor of a standup comedian, he introduced himself, explained the unfortunate gear situation, and modestly stated he'd try to give us an entertaining show. Lidell proceeded to sing like a miraculous combination of Otis Redding, Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder, and other African-American hall of famers without sounding like an obnoxious parodist. He shouted (oh so soulfully), scatted, and beatboxed and then looped the vast repertoire of vocal tics into intricate lattices of beats. He laid down a veritable Kama Sutra of rhythm. Coursing through the libidinous rhythms were some truly damaged keyboard textures that sounded like Prince's swerving '80s chordings mutated to strident extremes and the kind of acid-fried tones that riddled Lidell's first solo LP, Muddlin Gear.

Several times Lidell hinted that his set was ending, thus darkening our mood, but then he'd slyly ease into another song that would go off on a 90-degree tangent from the previous one, and our spirits would be lifted yet again. In this way, he intensified the already overpowering pleasure quotient.

Essentially, this was a unique exhibition of (im)pure soul shouting, flamboyantly sexy dance music, and experimental electronic machinations. Nobody else in the world could pull off a feat like this.