“Still Burning Bright: Sir Tom Jones Brings Down the House in Chicago with Voice That Defies Time”
He walked on with a cane. He sat in a chair. And then, with a single note, Sir Tom Jones proved he’s still one of the greatest showmen alive.
At 82 years old, most performers would be forgiven for slowing down. But not Sir Tom Jones. When the Welsh icon took the stage at the Chicago Theatre, walking stick in hand and settling into a seat at center stage, there was a brief flicker of concern among the packed audience. Was this going to be a quiet, subdued night from a man once known for shaking stages to their core? That thought didn’t last long.
The moment he opened his mouth, everything changed.
With a haunting rendition of “I’m Growing Old,” Jones didn’t just perform—he commanded. His voice, still rich, resonant, and remarkably powerful, wrapped around the crowd like velvet and steel. And that was just the beginning of a two-hour journey that spanned decades, genres, and emotions—proving that while his hip may be healing, his talent is utterly untouched.
No Frills, No Filters—Just the Voice
There were no flashy lights, no wild stage antics—just a man, a chair, a five-piece band, and a voice that has never faded. What made the evening truly mesmerizing was the clarity with which Jones delivered each word, each note. It was a masterclass in vocal storytelling. Whether crooning or belting, whispering or growling, his command of dynamics and emotion had the audience completely under his spell.
Fans expecting a slow burn of classics saved for the finale got a shock early on: Sir Tom dove straight into the hits. “It’s Not Unusual” and “What’s New Pussycat?” were unleashed in the first act, met with thunderous applause and joyful surprise. But they weren’t carbon copies of the versions we know from the ’60s—his band reimagined them with modern textures while honoring their infectious roots.
A Setlist That Spanned the Ages
What made the night unforgettable wasn’t just the nostalgia—it was the range. Jones leapt across genres like a man half his age. There was the swagger and cheek of “Sexbomb,” the satirical bite of “Talking Reality Television Blues,” and the poignant reflection of “One Hell of a Life.” The latter two tracks, from his chart-topping 2021 album Surrounded By Time, showed a man still evolving, still creating, still pushing himself—and winning.
At 82, Jones became the oldest artist to top the U.K. album chart with Surrounded By Time, and it’s no wonder why. These songs aren’t relics—they’re relevant, textured, and deeply personal. And live on stage, they resonated even more.
Still a Showman, Still a Tease
But don’t let the chair and cane fool you—Sir Tom hasn’t lost his playful spark. The energy surged when he launched into “Delilah,” triggering an old tradition: women from the crowd tossing undergarments onto the stage. The theater roared with laughter and admiration. It was cheeky, old-school, and perfectly Tom.
That same fire burned bright during his steamy rendition of “You Can Leave Your Hat On,” which had the entire audience swaying, grinning, and—let’s be honest—blushing.
A Taste as Fine as His Voice
One of the night’s most impressive feats was Jones’s impeccable curation of covers. His musical appetite remains as adventurous as ever. He dipped into gospel with Sister Rosetta Tharpe’s “Strange Things Happening Every Day,” took us to church with Leonard Cohen’s “Tower of Song,” and brought down the house with Prince’s “Kiss.”
Add in rock ’n’ roll fire from Chuck Berry’s “Johnny B. Goode” and Jerry Lee Lewis’ “Great Balls of Fire,” and you had a setlist that was equal parts tribute and triumph. Each cover wasn’t just performed—it was owned.
A Night That Felt Like History
As the show neared its close, the crowd knew they weren’t just witnessing a concert—they were witnessing a legend reaffirming his place among the greatest vocalists of all time. There was no fatigue in his tone, no trembling in his delivery. If anything, age has given Sir Tom Jones more—more soul, more wisdom, more weight behind every lyric.
When the final song ended, the audience didn’t leap to their feet—they rose slowly, deliberately, like a standing ovation at a cathedral. Applause thundered. Cheers echoed. Many had tears in their eyes.
“He’s not just still got it,” one fan whispered as they left the theater, “he never lost it.”
Tom Jones may walk slower these days. He may sing from a chair. But with that voice—that presence—he continues to shake the foundations of every room he enters.
In Chicago, he didn’t just defy expectations. He defied time.
