Daryl Hall has written some of the greatest pop songs of the last fifty years. That much isn’t up for debate. He’s a national treasure who deserves every bit of reverence he gets. But he’s also human. And Monday night at Royal Albert Hall, that humanity was on full display.
It took a while for things to click. From the opening song, it was clear there were sound issues. Not the first time this month either. A few weeks ago, Roger Daltrey literally stopped his show in this same venue and fired his drummer on the spot. Hall didn’t go that far, but he spent much of the first stretch of the gig behind a grand piano, half-joking with the crowd and clearly frustrated he couldn’t hear them properly. The vibe was a little off, but the goodwill in the room kept it from derailing.
The setlist blended the past and present. There was plenty of Hall & Oates for the fans who came to relive the hits, but Hall also leaned into his new solo album D. Songs like “Can’t Say No to You,” “The Whole World’s Better,” and “Walking in Between Raindrops” sat nicely in the set. Polished, soulful, and drenched in that smooth yacht rock sheen. It made me wonder why Daryl Hall and Michael McDonald have never done a record together. Seems like a no-brainer.
“Too Much Information” was a standout. It had that familiar Hall & Oates bounce, slick but gritty, the kind of groove that makes you nod before the chorus even hits. It felt less like a throwback and more like a reminder that Hall still knows exactly how to write a hook.
That said, the crowd came for the classics. There were shouts from the audience. One person yelled, “Out of Touch,” and Hall replied, dry as ever, “That was written by the other half.” A bit awkward, a bit brilliant. It was a reminder that this wasn’t a tribute act. This was Hall doing it his way.
The show kicked into another gear when Glenn Tilbrook from Squeeze joined the band for a short encore run. “One on One,” “Pulling Mussels (From the Shell),” and a cover of “Bad Luck” by Harold Melvin & The Blue Notes. A little unexpected, a little chaotic, but undeniably fun.
By the end, Hall had won the room. “You Make My Dreams” closed it out, and everyone stood up. People sang like it was 1981. It was one of those moments where everything else falls away, and you’re just happy to be there.
I’ve seen Hall four or five times now. Monday night wasn’t the best one technically, but it might have been the most real. He pushed through the glitches, kept his humour, played what he wanted, and gave the fans just enough of what they needed.
It wasn’t flawless, but it didn’t need to be. When it worked, it reminded you exactly why Hall’s name belongs in every conversation about pop greatness.
