Norah Jones herself packs a heavy punch for music fans. She showed that music could make an impact without shattering eardrums or succumbing to showy onstage antics, a philosophy that she has maintained throughout her illustrious career.
The only aspect of Jones’ Oct. 9 residency dusted with any glitz was the sensationally flashy Chicago Theatre marquee reading in black bold letters “Norah Jones Sold Out.”
Opening act Cory Chisel modestly sauntered onstage, clad in a demure denim shirt and a wide-brim fedora obscuring his rugged face and a guitar slung low across his narrow hips. Strutting not far behind was Chicago’s very own Adriel Denae clad in a black cocktail dress and giddily swinging her shiny platinum blonde locks. Chisel thanked the audience for sharing the night with him in “one of the most beautiful rooms I’ve ever been in,” and immediately carved into one of his many discreetly sentimental folk tunes.
Throughout Chisel’s performance the sparks of anticipation for Jones’ appearance were palpable, but as the time between set changes mounted, it was a full-blown electrical storm in the Chicago Theatre. With paper cranes fluttering from twinkling lanyards of holiday lights and moody spotlights illuminating the stage in dim beams, Jones entered into her element-a seductive, downplayed collection of minimalism. The tiny bob-coiffed Jones flounced onstage in high spirits, but her tired eyes and deliberate walk suggested a strain of road fatigue.
But Jones soldiered on and began her set with the manila staccato blues of “Cold Cold Heart” followed by an upbeat, forceful rendition of “What Am I To You,” from which she shed writhing helplessness in favor of a more biting delivery. Jones’ backing band offered a new dimension to the charmingly stripped sound characteristic of her initial fame. Initially a bit hesitant onstage, sheepishly fixing her gaze on her ivory keys and shyly introducing each song, Jones’ cool demeanor eventually thawed and began flaunting her charming stage presence.
Jones’ one-line zingers and comedic facial gestures-a wink here, a playful eyebrow raise there-lightened the mood of her down-and-out love songs. Even with the newly adopted lightheartedness in her music, Jones’ stage presence still mirrored the understated refinement of her audience, casually buttoned and heads tilted in dignified self-assuredness. But this didn’t dampen her sense of musical adventure; Jones’ four-piece musical support, which included an organ, guitar, drums, and bass, ensured that her set detoured monotony and emphasized the nuances of her fresh sound.
After satisfying her eager audience with a few old favorites, Jones began to meander into cuts from her recent album, Danger Mouse-produced “Little Broken Hearts.” Jones embraced her inner-seductress as verses of romantic misery slithered from the copper-throated crooner. Her band squandered no time in introducing warm, elaborate layers of Jones’ new sound brimming with welcomed complexities. Jones indicated command over her voice, with enough confidence to flaunt her booming belt, but self-aware enough to realize when to taper back, a lesson she took to heart with the chirpy falsetto of her lo-fi cry for vengeance “She’s 22.”
In an attempt to diversify the set, Jones injected a hefty dose of blue-eyed soul into The Grateful Dead’s “It Must Have Been The Roses.” But the Woodstock-tromping fare fell painfully flat with the audience, marking a collective trip out of the auditorium to bide time during the lull. Soon enough, Jones seized her post at the piano and doled out a smattering of songs sans backing band, which included crowd-demanded “Man of the Hour.” The song ushered in a three-minute slew of campy lines and overblown slurs tinged with Cab Calloway theatricality. But Jones couldn’t resist her largo love ballads for long. She quickly followed the tune with one of her earliest hits “Don’t Know Why,” tantalizing the audience with her seductive vocals and enthralling lyrics.
For a brief encore, Jones invited Chisel and Denae to return to the stage to cover Gram Parsons’ delicate nostalgic fit “Hickory Wind.” The song quickly wrapped and ushered in a parlor-style delivery of chart-topping single “Sunrise,” with Jones flanked by an accordion and upright bass. Jones then capped a lingering 90-minute set with delicate waltz “Come Away With Me.”
And for a moment it seemed like everyone in the theater did come away with her, into the hazy, bourbon-stained world of Norah Jones where “Little Broken Hearts” are mended with little more than the unadorned beauty of an honest song.
