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Chilly Gonzales & Jarvis Cocker: 'My rappers trashed Pulp's tour van'

The Pulp frontman and the classically-trained Canadian pianist and composer met at the Eden Project in 2002

Adam Jacques
Saturday 31 October 2015 18:03 GMT
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Cocker, right, says: 'With Chilly I've realised that going on stage can be fun, that I don't have to feel terrified. With him it's like a party, so I've tried to loosen up and open my eyes to the experience'
Cocker, right, says: 'With Chilly I've realised that going on stage can be fun, that I don't have to feel terrified. With him it's like a party, so I've tried to loosen up and open my eyes to the experience' (Alexandre Isard)

Jarvis Cocker, 52

A figurehead of the Britpop scene as the frontman of Pulp, Cocker (right in picture) has notched up several number-one albums, including 'Different Class' and 'This is Hardcore'. He has since launched a solo career, and presents a BBC Radio 6 Music show on Sundays. He divides his time between London and Paris

Chilly can be an intimidating figure, as he's tall and quite confrontational on stage, so I did wonder if we would get on. The first song of his I heard was "Let's Groove Again", from his 2000 album Gonzales Über Alles. I couldn't put my finger on what it was: there was a bit of hip-hop, electroclash, and some melody, too. People stick to genres these days, so I started to wonder about the man behind it.

We invited him to play with Pulp at the Eden Project in 2002. I wanted to meet him beforehand, but I get in a bad state before playing and it was the worst possible time, as my ex lived in Cornwall and I was quite worked up. I remember watching him from the side of the stage in his pith helmet, berating the audience.

When his first piano album [Solo Piano] came out in 2004, I played it a lot. It was soothing, which intrigued me, as he's pretty in your face, yet here was this album of very beautiful, gentle music.

It wasn't until we'd both moved to Paris, in 2006, that our actual friendship started. We met by chance when my [then] wife and I were on our way to see the film Borat. A little while later, he invited me to work on a song called "Francophobia". He's the musician and I'm known as the lyricist, but he said, "Let's reverse it." So I went round to his place and tried writing the music. We ended up playing it at a local gig; not a crowd-pleaser, that one.

His living arrangements in Paris were all based around the piano. It's not like he lived in squalor, but his piano took pride of place in his room, and everything else orientated around it. There were no other real home comforts. I was impressed by that. When he left Paris for Cologne, I ended up living in his place. I found this strange necklace with two metal teeth hanging from it, and I've kept it.

He's still an imposing figure. I can tell when we walk about that people are a bit scared. He doesn't care what people think; he often walks about in his slippers and gets funny looks.

We did a show together in Camden a few years ago – and with Chilly I've realised that going on stage can be fun, that I don't have to feel terrified. With him it's like a party, so I've tried to loosen up and open my eyes to the experience. Another thing he's done for me is make classical music a lot more accessible. He tells me about figures such as Mozart or Salieri in the same way I'd talk about a new album from an indie band: he cuts out all the waffle.

Chilly Gonzales, 43

A classically trained Canadian pianist and composer, Gonzales's works span alt-rock, rap, electronic music and chamber music. He has collaborated with artists including Daft Punk and Drake – and is the Guinness World Record holder for the longest concert by a solo artist, at 26 hours. He lives in Cologne

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People imagine Jarvis is crazy, bouncing off the walls like the guy who mooned Michael Jackson [Cocker invaded the stage during Jackson's Brit Awards performance in 1996]. But he's a shy fellow, an eccentric dandy from a long tradition of them: he's not far from Oscar Wilde.

I met Jarvis when I was opening for him at the Eden Project, in 2002. Once in a while I go insane on stage – and that night I pulled one of those tantrums, screaming and complaining and having a meltdown, partly for the enjoyment of the audience. I also had a bunch of rappers from east London hanging out with me; after I left, they stayed on in my backstage area and trashed it completely, before trashing Pulp's tour van. And this was the first time he was getting to know me!

For the next few months I ended up chasing Jarvis around, trying to apologise. The next time we met was at the Primavera festival in Barcelona, where we were both playing. I apologised profusely for what had happened, and asked how to get to the soundcheck – and in that dull sonic tone of a Sheffield accent he replied, "Put one foot in front of the other."

A couple of years later, in 2006, I heard rumours that he'd moved to Paris. I was living there, too – and I ran into Jarvis and his [then] wife in a subway. We exchanged numbers and started to meet up and have coffees, and talked about doing something together. While Canadians look for social validation quickly, his British reserve meant it took a while for us to break through. I could sense, with Paris being a closed place and Jarvis being shy, that it wasn't easy for him. We'd meet for lunch at the one British bakery in Paris and kvetch about the unlikeablity of French culture.

The first time I worked with him, he sat me down and said, "The piece I want to do with you is 'Fucking on Heroin'", for the soundtrack to [the film] Get Him to the Greek. It was a great song and we even performed it live once, with a string quartet.

The appeal of Pulp has always been how they combined lightness with intelligence. It wasn't typical pop fodder: Pulp could talk about elitism and the fetishisation of different classes, and pull it off in a way that never felt heavy-handed. And that's how I make piano music; you can see it as pleasant background music, but if you pay attention, you get more.

He has changed over 10 years: Pulp ended in 2004, and not having that rock'n'roll thing chasing him around has been liberating for him. He sings more quietly now, and you can hear the intimacy of his voice.

Chilly Gonzales & the Kaiser Quartett will be playing at the Royal Festival Hall, London SE1 (southbankcentre.co.uk), on Saturday

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