Elmore’s Annie Dinerman caught up with Bette Smith for the second time in less than a year, but what a year it has been for Smith. Here’s what transpired.

Bette Smith swept onstage at Bowery Ballroom wearing her customary yellow dress, a huge Afro, and thigh-high white vinyl high-heeled platform boots. Singing an ecstatic R&B/soul set, she danced around the saxophonist, went nose-to-nose with the guitarist. Her influences include Otis Redding and Etta James, but Bette Smith’s connection to her audience is deeply original. Who else would end every song with arms outstretched, head tossed back, chest lifted, baring her heart to the crowd? At the finish, 30-something Brooklyn hipsters were actually jumping like little kids.

After the show, Smith leaned on the railing, awaiting me and asked to borrow a small office. “Sure,” a staffer said, “make yourself at home.” Smith promptly sat to unzip the vinyl boots. “Hot!” she sighed, resting her feet on the desk.

I first interviewed her in 2017 at Summer On The Hudson Festival (New York), where she was promoting her debut CD, Jetlagger (Big Legal Mess Records). Now, I wondered what had changed for her in eight months. “I just got off of my European tour. Going to Berlin was a once-in-a-lifetime experience for me. The people in Berlin, they’re so educated and they were so attentive. They actually were singing along to “Shackles And Chains.” For people to care enough to memorize the words, it means a lot to me as a singer/songwriter. You’re a songwriter, so you know what I mean.

“The venue in Paris was a jazz venue so it took me awhile to get people on their feet, but once they got a whiff of who I really was, they started clapping and singing along and participating and sharing and getting into the soul spirit. We went to Amsterdam. We did a blues festival, and they got up on their feet right away.”

She’ll relish summer 2018 festivals in Spain, Switzerland and France, but cherishes her Brooklyn roots. “I want to give a shout out to all my home school, all my dirty lowdown friends,” she laughed. “We grew up in hustling in Bed Stuy on the corner of Fulton and Nostrand. I love you!”

Behind the door, a muffled voice said “CD table.” Smith quickly pulled on the vinyl boots. Leaning on my shoulder, she eased down the staircase. “Remind me to bring some flats next time!” Smith muttered with a wry smile, dashing off to hug fans and sign CDs.

—Annie Dinerman