Feist Overshadowed By Gonzales At Vancouver Olympics Show

This was another in the series of Cultural Olympiad shows during the Vancouver Olympics to feature the talents of Canada's diverse musicians.

Who better to kick off the night than one of the country's most eccentric yet respected exports, piano virtuoso and erstwhile funnyman Chilly Gonzales?

Of course, it doesn't hurt that he will be forever linked to the success of headliner, Feist (who holed up in a Berlin, Germany hotel with Gonzales to collaborate on her breakthrough Let It Die sophomore album).

So it was very fitting, then, that Feist would take the stage — timidly walking up to the microphone like she was Glee's Emma Pillsbury — to introduce Gonzales by way of an introduction written by the piano player himself, outlining his amazing talent and general power over the diminutive songstress.

Amidst much applause from a near-capacity (at that point) Orpheum Theatre, Gonzales walked onstage dressed in a long, black satin bathrobe with a rope belt and comfy slippers and promptly sat down at his grand piano. With his slicked-back, wavy hair and five o'clock shadow he looked a lot like a pudgier Roberto Luongo. How's that for Olympic spirit!

As soon as the crooner played his first notes, the crowd was already shouting out and hollering appreciative, enthusiastic noises.

Gonzales opened his set with back-to-back instrumental numbers. He went from creepy and moody to Randy Newman-esque jaunty pop, to something that sounded like the soundtrack to an old silent film where the damsel in distress is tied to train tracks and needs saving.

After the two instrumentals, Gonzales officially introduced himself to the crowd, proclaiming, "I am basically a slave to you — entertainment is war and I'm here to win."

For anyone who hasn't seen Gonzales live before, make no mistake about it — he's a showman. He's equal parts Liberace, Victor Borge, Billy Joel and a PG-rated Dane Cook, and loves to mix large doses of camp with his piano playing.

On this night, there was a healthy mixture of people who were already familiar with what he does and genuine first-timers who were pleasantly surprised at how entertained they were.

One minute, Gonzales explained the difference between major and minor chords in a political context (the former being fundamentalists and the latter being realists). The next, he admitted to the audience he's honestly not a good singer before playing the cheeky "Singing Something" from his 2008 Arts & Crafts release, Soft Power.

There were two more highlights before Gonzales gave way to the headliner. He held an audience participation bit where he asked everyone to repeat a bass hum for him ("It's called an ostinato and everyone from Domenico Scarlatti to the Wu-Tang Clan does it") while he played snippets of various styles of songs. During his closer,  he called out the people who came in late for the set and then played a condensed, "highlight" edition of his 45-minute set so they could get a taste of what they missed.

By the time Gonzales stood up for a bow, he was dripping sweat from his whole face. There was no surprise at the standing ovation.

Feist's set started brilliantly. She had her band (drummer/pianist/bassist) and four-person choir (which included The Hidden Cameras' Joel Gibb) already on stage. They started with a low, flat-lining hum that kept rising and rising, and the irresistible chanteuse came out skipping and punching the air like a boxer before a fight.

She opened with a spirited "I Feel It All" that included a clap-along breakdown that had the entire crowd clapping and hooting and hollering.

Feist followed that with another Reminder highlight, "My Moon My Man." She had the crowd in the palm of her hand and ready to go ballistic for anything she was going to do.

And then a funny thing happened... nothing.

Okay, not nothing, but presented with a gorgeously restored theatre filled to the max with people clearly in love with her, Feist delivered a pretty lackluster set.

Even with gorgeous treatments of "Limit To Your Love," "So Sorry" and "Mushaboom" (which she slowed down to a lazy, hazy, sleep-in-on-a-Sunday-morning vibe that ended with a beautiful xylophone and whistling combo from her choir) the crowd enthusiastically received, Feist's energy and engagement were clearly on the low end.

After the thrilling start, Feist made no attempt at any stage banter, and quite frankly, her fans lost steam. One hour into her set, after not having said anything at all in between songs, she sheepishly offered, "My banter's awesome tonight, eh?" And that was only because she was having trouble tuning her guitar.

It wasn't until much later in her set when she brought out the bouncier, livelier "Past In Present" that Feist started to show some life again, and the crowd felt this and dutifully clapped along.

But by then the overall mood had been set. Even a fun and quirky version of "Sea Lion Woman" that ended with Feist prancing at the front of the stage like a cat and bringing the chorus down to a whisper seemed to a fall a little flat. At the end of the song, she bowed and walked away without a word.

When Feist returned for her encore, she joked that Gonzeles' standing ovation was better than hers (well, duh, his was genuinely earned and hers was clearly polite and obligatory). Her encore should have been the capper to a spectacular evening — a sultry, smoky "Let It Die," "1234" (which featured Feist on recorder throughout), and a Feist/Gonzales cover of Peggy Lee's "Where Can I Go Without You?" with the singer sitting cross-legged on top of the player's piano — but all it did was leave people oddly unfulfilled.

Whatever was going on for Feist on this night, it translated into a sense that something was missing and it made for a pedestrian and (gasp) boring set.