He strolled across the stage in his muted yellow shirt decorated with palm trees, worn tennis shoes, baggy pants and tied back gray hair, looking like an ordinary fellow you would walk past on the street without a second glance. When Chick Corea’s fingers danced across the piano however, everyone instantly knew he was anything but average.
On Friday, legendary jazz performer Chick Corea came to the Quick Center for a solo piano performance in front of a packed house. Although Corea was by himself, other musicians such as Bud Powell and Bill Evans made brief appearances as Corea fiddled around with their songs.
Corea has been playing the piano since age four, and has worked with the likes of Eddie Gomez, Sarah Vaughn, and Miles Davis, for whom Corea accompanied on five albums between 1968 and 1970.
Corea has a natural stage presence and interacts easily with the crowd.
“This,” he said, referring to the stage, “is my living room, and I’m at home practicing for you.”
With the bright lighting and bare stage, the atmosphere was one of an intimate home party, guests nestled around a piano.
Corea shared personal stories with the crowd, such as the small suggestion Miles Davis extended his way.
“I was playing a chord at Miles’ house, and he came over, and in his small whispery voice said, ‘you play the same note all the way up the piano. Why not try to vary it a little?’,” saidscorcese
Corea. “I always think of that when I am writing new work now.”
Besides sharing memories, after Corea finished a song, he would ask the audience for suggestions and then would pound out a few notes of the ones he liked. “Play ‘My Funny Valentine’,” one female audience member shouted. “Now that is a great song and my wife loves it,” Corea laughed, “but no, I’m not going to play it.”
Later in the evening Corea explained that some songs have been done so many times that he just isn’t interested in playing them anymore, “My Funny Valentine,” being high on that list. Instead, Corea played some sonatas by the largely unknown classical Russian pianist, Alexander Scriabin.
As soon as Corea began a set of songs, the audience hushed and the only sounds heard were the piercing melodies floating from the piano. Whatever Corea played, the audience lounged in their seats, some with hands pressed into their chins, others with their heads on their partner’s shoulder, and many with closed eyes and soft, calm smiles spreading across their faces.
Corea had two brief breaks in between sets. Ninety percent of the crowd stayed for the second set and about 60 stayed for the third. Those remaining for the third set took the opportunity to occupy the abandoned seats in the front and get a better view.
When the third set was over, Corea received a thunderous standing ovation. “That was magnificent,” was all anyone kept repeating as they maneuvered their way out of the theater.
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