Gary Clark Jr. Ignites Stage AE, with Suzanne Santo Opening

Photos and Review: Alan Welding

The moment Gary Clark Jr. struck the first chord of “Catfish Blues”, Stage AE felt alive—smoke curled through amber lights as his fingers conjured grit and grace in equal measure. Fans pressed closer to the stage, eager for the ride ahead. Clad in understated cool, Clark wasted no time: his guitar snarled and glided through the blues standard before pivoting into Ain’t Messin ’Round from his 2012 breakthrough album Blak and Blu. From the start, he set the tone for a night of raw power and soulful precision.

Before Clark took the stage, singer-songwriter Suzanne Santo set the mood with a smoldering, roots-driven set of her own. Armed with a voice that blends grit and warmth, she weaves Americana, blues, and soul into a sound that is both intimate and commanding. Her performance was the perfect complement to what was to come—more a conversation with the crowd than a warm-up, her songs lingered even as anticipation for the headliner grew.

The setlist balanced Clark’s roots with his forward-looking work. “Maktub” and “Ain’t Messin ’Round” highlighted his fusion of blues and soul, while newer tracks like “Feed the Babies” carried the urgency and optimism of his latest record. The pacing alternated between smoldering ballads (“The Healing“) and explosive jams (“When My Train Pulls In“), locking the audience into a cycle of tension and release.

Clark spoke sparingly, preferring to let his guitar do the talking—a choice the crowd embraced wholeheartedly. With his ever-widening diversity of styles, one can never be sure what he’ll pull out of the setlist. This particular night leaned more toward Prince’s Minneapolis funk than the muddy shores of the Mississippi blues, though he peppered in plenty of the grit that first defined him. The result was a show that constantly shifted shape yet never lost its center.

His guitar remains his calling card—fiery yet precise, never indulgent. On “Third Stone From the Sun,” he evoked Hendrix in spirit but not mimicry, stretching notes until they cracked the humid August air. His vocals, too often overshadowed by his six-string heroics, carried a husky soulfulness that grounded the performance. Behind him, the band stayed tight but never rigid, leaving space for songs to bend and breathe into new shapes.

Stage AE proved an ideal canvas: intimate enough for every solo to rattle through the floorboards, yet expansive enough for the sound to swell into the summer night sky. When the opening riff of “What About Us” rang out, the venue transformed into a sea of raised voices—proof that Clark’s blues-rock is not dusty nostalgia but something communal, urgent, and alive.

By the encore, Clark had given more than a concert—he delivered a masterclass in how modern blues can evolve without losing its fire. The critic in me admired the sequencing and tonal variety of the setlist, but the fan in me knew it was something simpler: a night where sound and soul met in perfect sync.