Supergroups are never designed for longevity. They exist either as a water-treading exercise for name artists to fruitfully pass time whilst they wait for their main bands to reform or as an egotistical wish-fulfilment vehicle allowing musicians from different genres to work together without upsetting the apple cart of their day jobs. In celebrating 35 years of existence Mr. Big are the exception that proves the rule. Long ago they evolved beyond being a musical distraction for their constitute members and instead Mr. Big has become the thing that Billy Sheehan, Paul Gilbert and Eric Martin are now most well-known and revered for. Mr. Big have achieved the thing that very very few supergroups ever aspire to, as a whole they equal more than their individual parts.

The Ritz is refreshingly full for Wednesday night, and it is obvious that quite a few of the ensuite punters are here to see Jared James Nichols. He cuts an imposing figure with upper arms the size of tree trunks and a body frame that wouldn't be out of place in the world's strongest man competition. But to slightly misquote the late great David Bowie “boy, can he play guitar”. The sounds he ushers forth from his weathered-beaten Gibson are frankly astonishing.

There is an authentic and genuine aura to his heavy blues that is missing in most modern incarnations of the genre. His version feels raw, vital, and brimming with kinetic energy. It reconnects with the organic beauty of this guttural and street-level music and everything about Jared James Nichols screams “For Real”. It is very easy for guitarists this good to become rampant egotists, hoisted on their own petards. Not Mr. Nichols. He comes across as disarmingly humble and unpretentious. His candour with the audience is sincere and full of humility. It is refreshing to find a musician this accomplished who has managed to keep their feet very firmly on the ground.

Cutting to the chase, it is obvious that Mr Big frontman Eric Martin is massively struggling tonight. His usually delectable vocals are reduced to a husky rasp and his irreverent and self-deprecating banter with the audience is conspicuous by its absence. There are points in tonight's performance where he looks visibly crestfallen and agitated about his inability to hit his usual oral heights. But Eric is a consummate entertainer and rather than let his current vocal impairments disable or derail the evening's proceedings, he leans into it (see what we did there) and still manages to stage manage a thrilling two hours of non-stop entertainment.

The kinship on display is on a level unheard of within synthetically created musical entities. It is obvious that Billy, Paul and new drummer Nick D'Virgilio are massively empathetic towards their singer's struggles, and they cover for him as much as possible. The choruses of most tracks are provided by their harmonious intones and there are at least two points in the evening where Eric just wholesale hands the mike to Billy. But it isn't all firefighting, there is also a playful mischievousness on show that is only possible when musicians truly trust each other abilities. When Billy wafts out his harmonica during ‘Price You Gotta Pay’, Eric wraps his arms around him and picks up the thumping baseline without missing a beat. Then during ‘Good Lovin’ everyone swaps around illustrating the multidisciplinary virtuoso abilities of all four members.

The centerpiece of tonight’s show is meant to be a track-by-track airing of their 1991 Opus “Lean Into It”. It's thrown out in its entirety with little fanfare and the only mention of doing the album in full is when Eric states that they have never played ‘My Kinda Woman’ live before this particular run of shows. The musical architecture of “Lean into It” and the fact that they embark into it early on in the set means that all their well-known tracks are dispensed of with nearly half of the allotted two-hour stage time to run. Normally this would signal a mass exodus to catch earlier trains or to partake in a couple of swift ones before heading home. But not tonight. It becomes glaringly apparent that for the vast majority of the audience seeing Mr. Big is not actually about singing along to the big-ticket numbers ‘Just Take My Heart’ or ‘To Be With You’, it's about bathing in the majesty of two of the greatest musicians our music has ever produced.

Mr. Big may well have evolved into a coherent unit but it doesn't take away from the fact that in the shape of misers Gilbert and Sheehan, it houses quite simply one of the greatest guitarists currently operating in rock music and the greatest bass player of all time. Both get elongated solos in the second hour of the set, and it is obvious that for many many people, this is what they have stuck around for. Both are astonishing. Solos are usually the domain of self-indulgent depravity. But not this evening. There is a warmth and good humour to both of their recitals that allow them to become communal experiences as opposed to cold clinical showcases obvious talent.

Despite Eric’s struggles, tonight is still a highly enjoyable and edifying experience. There however seems to be some confusion about what we are actually here to signify. Is it the 35th anniversary of the band existing? Is it the rather tenuous, 33rd anniversary of “Lean Into It” or is it, as advertised, their swansong and an opportunity to say a final goodbye? If it is the latter then it is slightly sabotaged by the open secret that they have been working on new material with Nick and the cryptic final statement of Billy's that we will meet again, don't know when don't know where but we will be to meet again. But if their “Big Finish” turns out to be as superficial as either Slayer’s or Motley Crue's I don't think there is a single person in the Ritz that would turn down the opportunity to do it all again.

Check the “In The Flesh” page for more photos!
Mr.Big, Jared James Nichols