A Northern Soul DJ spins deep cuts to a half-lit Barbican, the kind of warm-up that signals exactly where this night is headed. By the time Jalen Ngonda walks on, there’s no rush, no theatrics—just a band already in place and a gold shiny curtain catching the stage lights like it’s 1968 again.

Words and Photos – John Hayhurst

He opens without fanfare, stepping straight to the mic in a sharp blue suit, wide 70s collar pushed open over a green shirt. The look lands somewhere between rehearsal-room casual and archival soul revue. It completely fits the asthetic. Behind him, drums, bass and keys stay locked in formation at the back, leaving him space to hold the front line alone on this huge stage.

This is the first night of a tour building towards Doctrine of Love, his sophomore album due on the 5th June. There’s a sense of testing the material in real time. Early songs move at a measured pace—tight, unshowy arrangements, his guitar kept close to the chest. His voice though, cuts through the air immediately. High, controlled, and unmistakably rooted in the phrasing of those Motown Soul legends like Smokey Robinson, it needs no warm up.

The title track, ‘Doctrine of Love’, which explores further that late-60s palette he’s clearly chasing with this new record. Strings are implied rather than present; everything is stripped back to rhythm and voice, this is the soul revue we have been waiting for since Amy Winehouse passed. I can imagine in a short time we are going to see a performance with a full band including backing singers and brass and that will be a show for the ages.

The crowd tonight reflects where he is right now. The stalls never quite fill, but there’s space to dance, and some take it. The balcony is a seated audience who are leaning forward rather than getting up. It’s a mixed room, skewing older, though his next supporting run is at arenas with Olivia Dean, which suggests that’s about to shift.

There’s little between-song talk. Ngonda keeps things moving, occasionally shifting to the piano but mostly staying fixed at the mic, letting the set build through contrast rather than commentary.

New material slots in seamlessly. ‘Hang it on the Shelf’, released just a few days ago, gets a good reaction—its groove sharper, the chorus landing quickly.

Then, he breaks pattern with a cover of Burt Bacharach’s ‘The Look of Love’. A standout moment. Slowed slightly, delivered without excess, it lets his vocal sit right at the front—clear, steady, and close to flawless. No attempt to reinvent it, just a careful reading that trusts the song and his voice to carry it.

That restraint defines the pacing. Nothing overruns. Songs arrive, do their job, and make way for the next. It’s efficient, almost to a fault, but it keeps the focus exactly where he wants it—on the songs, and on that voice.

He closes with ‘If You Don’t Want My Love’, still the strongest card from his debut. Then it’s done. No encore stretch, no drawn-out goodbye. Just a quiet exit, leaving the gold curtain glowing behind an empty mic stand.

He’s not chasing full attention yet. He’s building something slower, more deliberate. And for now, that seems enough. But be warned, you have a short chance now to catch him in clubs and the academy circuit, arenas will be beckoning once he hits main stream.