During one of the night’s many organ-effect keyboard interludes, Missourian singer-songwriter Nathanial Rateliff knowingly states the obvious: “There’s a lot of the church music tonight.” Dressed head-to-toe in black and a wide-brimmed hat, he looks every inch the apostate preacher – a red handkerchief hangs from his back pocket and flags up a hint of hellfire.

Edgar Winter and his band take to the stage at eight thirty on the dot; Winter wears a knee-length red velvet military jacket. The venue could charitably be described as half-full but Winter and co seem unperturbed, ploughing straight into an opening number that doubles as a mission statement: Keep Playin’ That Rock And Roll.

For nearly 500 years, the pencil has remained unchanged. Okay, there have been pretenders to the throne – mechanical pencils (lose £5 every time you misplace one, spend £5 every time you refill it); ink pens (for those who arrogantly believe their every written thought should be indelible); computers (a broken computer destroys your life’s work; a broken pencil requires sharpening) – but still the pencil lives on.

This is a strangely conceived and underwhelming show, occasionally elevated by the talent on stage. Essentially, it is an assortment of classic soul hits (emphasis on Aretha, Ella, Billie and Etta) with full orchestral backing – similar to how you remember them, but not quite as good.

“Pardon me. Pardon me!” A small blonde woman holding a guitar has emerged from the throng in the Borderline, standing directly to my right. She patiently repeats herself – politely but louder – until I hear her above the noise of the packed venue and get out of the way. Only as she stumbles onto the stage, moments later, does it become clear she is Erika Wennerstrom, lead singer of Ohio country/blues rock outfit the Heartless Bastards.

There is something exquisitely theatrical about singer/songwriter/guitarist CW Stoneking. His voice – like someone trapped an Australian and an American accent in a bag full of hammers and threw it down some stairs – is beguilingly battered. He speaks out of the corner of his mouth and even when singing the words limp out, as if chewed for several days before finally escaping and blooming into yearning melodies.

Bridges takes to the stage in a vintage tux and bowtie almost certainly twice his age. Bathed in backlight – at times almost silhouetted – he is winningly shy, hurriedly introducing songs in a mumble.

Gregory Porter is no more than a dot in the distance for the vast majority of the audience, but his renowned baritone croon – like velvet dipped in cream – fills every inch of the room with his singular blend of jazz, blues, gospel and soul, somehow making the Royal Albert Hall feel intimate. 

Otis Taylor shuffles endearingly onto the stage with his band, wearing a velvet-backed waistcoat over his denim shirt and a baseball cap, beads hanging from his neck like a raffish truck driver who’s taken one too many wrong turns. He mumbles through a grizzled beard – something like: “I hate these lights. I like to see people. I’m not special” – then thrums a gentle, rootsy guitar rhythm...

Wearing a silver paisley jacket – like wallpaper from a Victorian spaceship –legendary R&B producer and songwriter Allen Toussaint sings “Anywhere I go, something goes along with me/ It’s the charm of the city; The Crescent City in me”. For the next two hours he transforms Ronnie Scott’s into a tiny outpost of New Orleans.

S&V Discos come in a shiny blue packet and are without doubt among the finest crisps in the world. They are not fancy. They are not perfect. They are not even actual slices of potato, rather potatoes that have been pulped with wheat starch and shaped mechanically. But their charm lies entirely in their imperfections.

One of a series of columns (Third Wheel) for a student newspaper, in which I accompanied couples on blind dates. 

There was a point towards the end of the night where Jake was using Frankie’s umbrella to simulate a kaleidoscopic, mushrooming phallus between his legs, and Frankie turned to me and said “That’s my date.”