A friend and I went out last weekend to Alberta Street, one of the culturally richest districts in Portland, to see a show. The act was called The Liv Warfield Experience. Truthfully, I hadn’t heard of her before I bought the ticket…it was a whim. But why not, you know.

We arrived in time to grab a beer and find a seat in the front row of the left wing. When the band took the stage shortly after eight, I was blown away. Liv Warfield was a force of nature in stiletto boots.

Between songs, I spoke with a photographer, who told me Liv just released her first album, but worked for years with Prince as a backup singer. I was able to confirm that story with Willamette Week, a Portland publication. The rest of the performance made more sense after that, as Liv moved like James Brown and sang like the Purple One. But she had her own magic too, which was extraordinary. Frankly, I haven’t seen a performer lay it on the line like that in years. My friend said between sets, “She just left a piece of her heart on that stage!”

With no opening band to suck up time, Liv and the Experience worked the room until after midnight. Hours of rocking, rolling, and soulin’ felt like minutes. Any other city would have had a riot of dancing revelers, but this is Portland. We’re subdued…probably because of the rain. Still, several dozen of us were on our feet, next to the stage. We were feeling it.

The encore was “Gimme Shelter,” a Stones cover, and she sang with such power, she had us hopping up and down. Stepping off the stage, she wandered; shaking hands, singing impromptu duets with audience members…it was loose. But why wouldn’t it be? After that many hours, we felt we knew each other. Since I was at the front, she took my hand briefly and we sang, “Love is just a kiss away.”

If only it was that simple.

With ringing ears and a contented heart, I went to bed later that night thinking about what made Liv the best performer I’d seen in years. Why was she a diva, when her talented backup singers were wing-girls?

Energy is one difference. When the backup singers were a bit shiny with perspiration, Liv had broken a sweat. She danced, sang, and demanded attention in one larger-than-life movement.

Also, she was gracious, giving all sorts of accolades to her band. She wasn’t concerned about another singer hitting some sweet notes, she applauded it.

Another lesson in diva-hood was simple commitment. Liv Warfield was committed to making it the best damned show her audience had seen in years. No one was going home feeling like they hadn’t had a good time. She made the evening happen. No excuses, no apologies, and everything left on that stage when it was over.

None of this would have mattered though if she didn’t possess the most important quality in diva-hood: love. She loved what she did. She was called and chosen to do this by her heart.

If we love what we do with some sort of inspired abandon, we are divas in our own way. We rock our room, wherever that room may be.