Gliding across the stage, crooning "come closer" over a driving beat, he manhandles the microphone stand like a modern-day James Brown. Only without the polyester jumpsuit.
Ne-Yo, the R&B triple-threat singer, performer and songwriter, is rocking a steel gray Tom Ford sharkskin suit, a silver tie cinched with a tie bar -- and his trademark fedora.
His retro style -- or "swag" as he calls it -- informs every element of the performance. Flanked by four female dancers, he sings in front of an old-school band with a full horn section. His moves -- rocking in time interspersed with slices of intricate footwork -- rival Usher's for sheer smoothness.
In today's music world, it doesn't get much sharper than this.
The 29-year-old has been an up-and-coming name for years. Love songs are his stock in trade -- he's written a string of hit ballads, including "Take a Bow" for Rihanna, and is slated to work on Michael Jackson's next album. But with the recent release of the aptly titled "Year of the Gentleman," Ne-Yo is stepping into the spotlight in a whole new way -- as a bona fide fashion plate, elevating the rules of style for the modern R&B set.
Though female R&B artists are often some of the best dressers around (Mary J. Blige comes to mind), male crooners are overdue for a sartorial boost. Long gone are the days when Sam Cooke sang "Wonderful World" in a satin-lapeled suit and skinny tie and Marvin Gaye nimbly mixed Rastafarian hats with tuxedo jackets while asking "What's Going On"? Since the 1980s, male R&B fashion has ranged from the nondescript, in the vein of Luther Vandross and Brian McKnight, to gangster-light, a la R. Kelly and Boyz II Men, to downright goofy (paging Bobby Brown).
Maybe that's why Ne-Yo's style is so steeped in the long-ago -- the '40s and '50s, to be exact -- "when music to me was its most real," he says during a recent backstage interview. "Back then, it meant something to be an entertainer. You would see the Rat Pack in a suit and tie, but if it wasn't a suit and tie, it was a shirt with a collar -- something mature. You were fly 24 hours a day, seven days a week."
The singer is hardly ever without a hat. "My dad didn't give me much, but he did give me his screwy hairline," he notes, exposing his slightly balding pate. By day, he wears one of his many Kangol newsboy caps; by night, he switches to short-brimmed fedoras -- cocked to the side, just like Ol' Blue Eyes.
