Chilly Gonzales (NNF)

It’s mid-week and Norwich is buoyant; it can mean only one thing - the circus is in town. This particular circus is, of course, the annual Norfolk and Norwich Festival 2019. A veritable hotbed of music, performance art, dance, cabaret and a ruddy great Vaudevillian tent in Chapelfield gardens, their line-up is always hugely anticipated. When I checked out the programming on its release a couple of months ago, I was stoked, nay, super stoked to see one of my most-played artists, Chilly Gonzales, on the bill.

And so as I head into Norwich’s Theatre Royal, sure, I’m excited but there’s a niggling doubt; how will Chilly Gonzales, known for — amongst other pursuits — his three solo piano albums, keep our attention for over two hours? You see, Chilly is my focus mascot; I play his albums when I’m writing, when I’m approaching deadlines, and when I need a soundtrack that doesn’t clash with other input around me. My young son has experienced ‘Solo Piano II’ on repeat as his bedtime lullaby music. It’s beautiful music but, y’know, not stand in the aisles, lose your shit music. I see a young boy, around 5 years old, accompanying his mum to the show. As they walk in, I wonder what level of cray cray she is to bring a young kid to a piano concerto, and hope that’s she’s packed his iPad and a tranquilliser gun to keep him contained.

Of course, before Chilly heads the bill, we’re introduced to Sarah McCoy in support. I’ve not heard of her, but hurriedly Googled to find out Chilly had produced her music. Being producer for such disparate artists as Peaches and Feist, I wondered what end of the musical spectrum she fell. Neither. That’s what. Sarah McCoy, despite her timid entrance to the stage, proclaiming she’s “really nervous” as she sits at the piano, is an absolute powerhouse. In between songs she’s like one of the girls; she talks of playing Pacman with her latest crush, ruminating over whether he’ll be the one(in her case, the one that she’ll “hunt, trap and eat”); she confesses to a life well-lived but not loved — atragic tale of self-hatred, running away from reality; a painful reconciliation with her “Mom” (her New Orlean drawl is enchanting). She peppers these tales with nervous, but filthy laughter that endears her to us instantly. She manages to tell these tales like it’s the first time she’s ever dared explain herself; her honesty is heartfelt. But when she sings — oh boy. She’s not one of the girls, not unless you’re good friends with a swampy jazz queen of the underworld; the possessed cadaver of Dusty Springfield or a voodoo Blues soothsayer. Y’know, that kinda friend. I have never experienced such humility from an artist, coupled with the kind of voice that only comes every 40-odd years. Look. her. up.

And so after a quick trip to the bar for the interval, laden with little plastic tubs of wine (sharp, but on the allowed list of drinks that can be taken back into the auditorium), we settle in for two and a half hours of piano. Or so we thought…

Sure, Chilly starts us off with a couple of solo piano numbers, looking every bit the prodigious musician he is in a brown smoking jacket and hair flailing with every dramatic arpeggio. It’s when he takes a moment to explain the meaning of ‘arpeggio’ that he starts to have some fun with us. He talks about the origins of his masters; Bach, Beethoven (in his words, “LVB, bitches”) and demystifies their work. He cycles through the ages, playing The Eagles’ ‘Hotel California’ and Daft Punk’s ‘Aerodynamic’, all the time keeping us engaged with his teachings. He has our full attention all. by. himself. That said, it adds a different dynamic when he welcomes on cellist, Stella le Page to join the stage with him. With le Page he adds another level; they play out some of his piano and cello duos, including — he apologises for the pun — ‘Cello Gonzales’. Things are getting lively now; he’s already picked out members of the audience that he describes as “grey and white […] Glen Miller fans” and puts the responsibility on us to keep the mood buoyant. It’s not hard as Chilly, Stella and now some drum playing Ipswich native (sorry, Joe Flory) are ramping up the tempo. We have a mash up of Nirvana’s ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ (“Cobain, K," informs Gonzales) with Britney’s ‘Hit Me Baby One More Time (“Spears, B," he affirms); we are treated to a Chilly original rap where he got the entire Theatre Royal clicking their fingers in time (apart from one guy, “you don’t feel like snapping, sir?”) and a Drake ft. Chilly Gonzales ft. Drake ft. Chilly Gonzales rendition of his / Drake’s / his / Drake’s ‘The Tourist’. We’re in bits; sore from laughing, raw from clapping as he leaves and enters the stage again for an encore. A collaboration with his support, Sarah McCoy on one of my favourite soul songs —Bettye Lavette’s ‘Let Me Down Easy’ — is an added treat. He invites the audience to request a finale; ‘Knight Moves’ is thrown into the ring and accepted. This song has never made an impression on me before, but tonight, with the energy of Gonzales and his minimal band giving it life, it’s an incredible closer.

Our applause is rapturous with standing ovations all round. As we walk out, we see another young boy leaving the theatre, beaming. I realise I’m the crazy one, it turns out; if Chilly Gonzales is ever on the bill in a town near you again, bin the iPad. Keep the kids up late, drag them to the theatre, bring your friends, your parents, your grandparents — as one of the greatest acts i’ve ever seen in my journalistic career, do not miss a chance to see this consummate entertainer, Gonzales, C.