As the lights dipped in Chester’s Storyhouse, a slow hush settled over the theatre that conveyed equal parts anticipation and reverence. In this converted 1930s art deco cinema, now one of the North West’s most treasured cultural spaces, there was something quietly poetic about seeing Elkie Brooks take to the stage. At 80 years old, her presence is undimmed. No grand fanfare needed. She steps into the spotlight and the audience, already leaning forward, doesn’t dare look away.

Just a few songs in, Brooks looked out across the room and offered with a knowing smile, “When you get older, you tend to just take your time.” It landed like gospel. A ripple of laughter and applause followed, not out of politeness, but connection. It set the tone for the evening perfectly: unhurried, unforced, and rich with experience. A couple of songs later, she chuckled, “Takes a few songs to get this voice warmed up these days… have to keep on top of it.” The comment was modest, almost a throwaway, but the truth is she sounded fantastic from the first note. If this was her warming up, most singers would be lucky to peak there. That gentle self-effacement, paired with complete command, is classic Elkie.

Her stage presence hasn’t softened, either. That unmistakable Northern twang cuts through her between-song chat with warmth and mischief. “It’s nice here,” she beamed. “Lovely city. Nice shopping centre too.” The crowd lapped it up. Later came a cheeky aside: “I get mistaken for Kate Bush sometimes. Don’t ask me how…” And just like that, decades of musical prestige didn’t stop her from pulling faces or letting her hair down. It’s this natural rapport, this absolute refusal to become aloof, that makes her live shows so enduring.

Of course, when the music speaks, it speaks loudly. “No More the Fool” was delivered with full force. A song that may once have felt like a chart-friendly power ballad now hits with raw wisdom. It’s lived-in, still defiant, and beautifully restrained.

What sets Brooks apart and always has, is her ability to breathe new life into everything she touches. Her take on Bob Dylan’s “Make You Feel My Love” is a prime example. While many artists lean into sentimentality, Brooks cuts straight to the heart. No theatrics, no pleading, just the rawness of love laid bare. It’s the sound of someone who understands devotion not as a flourish, but as something anchored and enduring.

And while much of her set nods to heritage, there’s nothing dusty about it. Her rendition of “Human” by Rag’n’Bone Man felt like a statement of relevance. One of the night’s few modern cuts, it slotted in seamlessly, a soul-heavy, vocal-forward moment that showed Brooks isn’t merely revisiting her glory years. She’s still listening, still challenging herself.

The blues numbers offered some of the night’s fiercest moments. Her take on Jimi Hendrix’s “Red House” snarled and smouldered, full of attitude and fire. Then came “Baby What You Want Me to Do” by Jimmy Reed, oozing with swing and swagger. These weren’t just covers, they were conversations. Communion with the greats she once stood shoulder to shoulder with.

One of the quieter highlights came with “Learn to Love,” a newer addition to her set that proves she’s not resting on past laurels. It’s a song of patience and understanding, delivered with subtle vocal shifts and a clarity of emotion only an artist of her calibre can pull off. She’s not just singing old songs well, she’s still shaping new ones with meaning.

Then there’s “Pearl’s a Singer”, the showpiece, the hymn to survival. And what a delivery. Her phrasing is still impeccable, knowing exactly when to stretch a line or break it. There’s such grace in the way she sings about a woman whose dreams have outlived their fame. In Brooks’ hands, Pearl doesn’t feel like a character, she feels like an echo. One that bounces off the theatre walls with defiance and sorrow in the same breath.

And just when you thought the tank might be empty, she returned for “Purple Rain.” A bold choice—one rarely tackled without slipping into pastiche but Brooks made it her own. She didn’t attempt to mimic Prince. Instead, she drew out its sorrow, its theatrical ache, turning it into something close to prayer. A show-stopping finale, but never showy. Just sincere.

Elkie Brooks doesn’t need to reinvent herself. She doesn’t need to prove anything. She simply sings, and in doing so, shows how rare it is to encounter a voice that still carries truth like this. No gimmicks. No frills. Just pure connection.

Long may she continue to set the bar and long may we be lucky enough to watch her raise it.