When the stage’s cream curtains pull back, Olivia Dean and band are already in full flow. Hands reaching out to the audience in welcome, she shimmies behind a silver mic stand in a floor-length candyfloss-pink dress, her band side-stepping on curved, softly carpeted risers. The swinging, sighing soul-pop single Nice to Each Other is bright with optimism for an on-off relationship, while soft-focus camera footage makes a collage out of gleaming trumpets, glamorous backing singers and Dean’s beaming face. With the air of old-fashioned music TV, it is knowingly retro and deeply romantic – everything you’d expect from the 27-year-old singer who is breathing fresh air into British soul.
On this opening night of two sold-out arena shows in Glasgow, ahead of six nights at London’s O2, Dean breezes through two more of her biggest songs as if it’s no big deal. Lady Lady, about moving out and growing up, is bassy and rich, while So Easy (To Fall in Love) is free, flirty and radiant: “This is a song to remind you that you’re fab,” she crows, now dancing at the stage’s footlights.
Dean’s rapid rise to pop’s upper echelons, clinched by her best new artist win at the Grammys in February and four Brit awards, is down to exactly this airy, easy charm. So when Dean drops the polish for a showstopping Let Alone the One You Love, it’s all the more striking. Leaning on a keyboard, brow furrowed, she relives an argument with genuine frustration seeming to rise in her voice – “If you knew me at all, you wouldn’t try to keep me small” – as her brass players fanfare their support. On record, the song’s bright arrangement feels misplaced, but on stage it is more obviously a riposte: good luck trying to dim Dean’s light.
“I drove past King Tut’s on my way here,” she says slowly. “I never imagined I could have my own arena tour.” She played the 300-cap club only three years ago, before jumping to a venue triple its size in 2024 – but glitzy set-design aside, the bones of Dean’s show haven’t changed. Since her last visit she has added two singers to her band, plus a wardrobe of glam costume changes, but the real growth is in Olivia herself. Magnetic and commanding, she still pops some Motown moves – a hand perched on her hip, or a finger held aloft in time-honoured girl-group style – but her performance feels lived-in and natural, as does her soft, expressive voice.
She has also grown the confidence to be vulnerable. When Dean sits on a stool to sing older track UFO, backed only by her long-time bassist and guitarist, the audience light the arena with their phones. It’s fairly standard practice for a ballad, but Dean crumbles at the sight. She makes it to the final line before holding her face in her hands for a proper cry: “I’ll never forget that,” she squeaks.
There is tangible affection for her in the room, with the shared feeling of watching a star take steps into unknown but long dreamed of territory. It gives a rose tint to some of her lesser material, which shines brighter with the big band treatment and her sheer force of personality. And by the time she closes, inevitably, on Man I Need – her first UK No 1 and the latest member of Spotify’s Billions Club – Dean is floating with happiness, her feet barely touching the ground. The curtains close, the end credits roll, and it feels like a classic romance in every way.