There’s something remarkable about seeing a legend like Steve Winwood in a theater as intimate as The Cabot in Beverly, Massachusetts. The Cabot, with its century-old charm and art deco glow, felt almost reverential on this night — a place where music history met living history. Winwood, now decades into a career that’s spanned rock, soul, and jazz-fusion, didn’t need pyrotechnics or spectacle to hold the audience. What he brought instead was warmth, mastery, and a musicality that reminded everyone why his catalog endures across generations.
Winwood stepped out to an eruption of applause, a humble smile crossing his face as he settled behind his keyboards. Without a word, he opened with “Glad”, a deep cut from Traffic’s John Barleycorn Must Die. The instrumental groove immediately set the tone — jazzy, intricate, and confident. His band, a small but tight ensemble, locked into the syncopated rhythm as the familiar Hammond organ swirled around the room. There’s a certain satisfaction in hearing Winwood still pull that same magic from the keys, his fingers dancing with muscle memory honed over six decades. The song built with hypnotic precision, not as a nostalgia act, but as a living, breathing jam.
From there, he drifted gracefully into “Can’t Find My Way Home,” the haunting Blind Faith classic. This was one of those moments that sent chills through the crowd. Winwood’s voice, aged but still golden, carried a smoky tenderness. He delivered the song not as a museum piece but as a reflection — fragile, beautiful, and wise. The stripped-down arrangement let the melancholy of the lyrics shine, and when he reached the final line, the audience erupted in a standing ovation that felt both grateful and amazed.
Next came a curveball: “Why Can’t We Live Together,” a Timmy Thomas cover that showed Winwood’s enduring love of soul and groove. His version was deep and meditative, carried by a steady percussion pulse and the sort of organ tone that felt like sunlight breaking through clouds. The Cabot’s acoustics served him well here — every sustained note filled the space like a cathedral.
Then came the one-two punch of his early hits. “I’m a Man”, from his Spencer Davis Group days, ignited the room. The rhythm section kicked hard, and for a few minutes, The Cabot felt like a sweaty 1960s club in Birmingham. Winwood’s voice may have softened with age, but he sang with the same unshakable conviction. People stood up, dancing in the aisles, and Winwood grinned, clearly feeding off the energy. That grin stayed as he launched into “Forty Thousand Headmen,” another Traffic gem that turned the mood inward again — jazzy and mystical, with flute lines weaving through the rhythm. The crowd leaned in close, letting the groove wash over them.
A surprising highlight of the night was his cover of “We Can Work It Out” by The Beatles. Winwood gave it his own soulful twist, transforming it from pop optimism into something warmer and more reflective. His voice carried a gospel hue, the organ filling in the spaces where Lennon and McCartney once harmonized. It was an inspired reinterpretation — not just a cover, but a conversation with another era of classic songwriting.
When the unmistakable chords of “Roll With It” hit, the audience roared. This was pure fun — upbeat, bluesy, and full of swagger. The song felt like a victory lap, and Winwood’s band leaned into it with infectious energy. He followed it with “Back in the High Life Again,” the night’s most emotional singalong. Everyone seemed to know every word, and as the chorus hit, Winwood’s voice soared above the crowd, filling the room with a mixture of nostalgia and joy. For many, this was the song that defined a part of their youth — and hearing it live, decades later, still hit hard.
The show’s most mesmerizing stretch came next with “The Low Spark of High Heeled Boys.” It’s one of those epic, free-flowing Traffic songs that feels both jazz and rock, both earthy and cosmic. The band stretched it out beautifully — Winwood on organ, his guitarist layering spacey lines, the drummer exploring polyrhythms that shimmered and snapped. The song seemed to stretch time itself, taking on new dimensions with every solo. The crowd sat spellbound, the applause at the end thundering like a release.
Without pause, Winwood moved into “Dear Mr. Fantasy.” The lights dimmed slightly, and that iconic guitar riff cut through like a flare in the dark. It’s a song about longing and escape — and Winwood delivered it like a prayer. He poured everything into it: the ache, the gratitude, the catharsis. It was the night’s emotional centerpiece, the kind of performance that leaves a lump in your throat. The crowd’s standing ovation afterward felt endless.
He could have ended there, but Winwood wasn’t done. As soon as the familiar intro to “Higher Love” kicked in, the entire theater rose to its feet again. It was pure joy — the kind of moment that erases time. The song’s optimism and soul felt timeless, and Winwood’s delivery was radiant. The chorus filled The Cabot like a gospel revival, audience and band united in celebration. It’s hard to overstate how uplifting it felt — an anthem for connection and resilience that still rings true.
Finally, Winwood closed the night with “Gimme Some Lovin’.” If there’s a song that encapsulates his spirit, it’s this one — the first big hit he wrote as a teenager with The Spencer Davis Group, and still one of the greatest rock and soul hybrids ever recorded. The audience danced, sang, and clapped along, and Winwood seemed genuinely moved by the energy. He threw in a few playful organ solos, giving the song a renewed spark. When it ended, the applause refused to stop.
Setlist:
-
Glad (Traffic)
-
Can’t Find My Way Home (Blind Faith)
-
Why Can’t We Live Together (Timmy Thomas cover)
-
I’m a Man (The Spencer Davis Group)
-
Forty Thousand Headmen (Traffic)
-
We Can Work It Out (The Beatles cover)
-
Roll With It
-
Back in the High Life Again
-
The Low Spark of High Heeled Boys (Traffic)
-
Dear Mr. Fantasy (Traffic)
-
Higher Love
-
Gimme Some Lovin’ (The Spencer Davis Group)
What stood out most throughout the night wasn’t just the setlist — though it read like a road map through British rock history — but how gracefully Winwood moved between eras. He treated each song not as a relic but as a living work, reshaped slightly with the insight of time. The Cabot’s intimacy allowed every subtle detail to shine — the tone of his organ, the phrasing of his vocals, the quiet interplay between musicians. There were no backing tracks or overproduction, just musicians communicating through pure sound.
For the audience, it was like being invited into a living timeline of rock and soul. Every note carried the weight of history, but the performance never felt stuck in the past. Instead, Winwood reminded everyone why he’s one of the greats — a musician’s musician, a craftsman whose songs have outlasted the trends.
By the time the lights came up, there was a palpable sense of gratitude in the air. Fans lingered, reluctant to leave, still humming the melodies they’d grown up with. Seeing Steve Winwood in a setting like The Cabot wasn’t just a concert — it was a reminder that true artistry doesn’t fade. It evolves, deepens, and finds new life every time an audience comes together to listen.
Final Grade: A-