It is loud. It is brassy. Honestly, it is a bit cynical. If you have ever sat in a darkened theater and heard that first, low-register "vamp" on the piano, you know exactly what is coming. We are talking about the songs from the play Chicago, a collection of music that basically redefined what a concept musical could be. When John Kander and Fred Ebb sat down to write this thing in the 1970s, they weren't just trying to write catchy tunes. They were trying to capture the seedy, vaudevillian underbelly of 1920s corruption.
It worked.
Most people think they know the score because they saw the 2002 movie with Catherine Zeta-Jones. But the stage version is a different beast entirely. It’s stripped back. It’s "The Minimalist." The music doesn't rely on massive sets; it relies on Bob Fosse’s legendary choreography and a brass section that sounds like it’s been drinking gin in a basement since 1924.
The Vaudeville Connection Most People Miss
Every single one of the songs from the play Chicago is actually a tribute to a specific vaudeville performer or style. This is the "secret sauce" of the show. Kander and Ebb didn't just write "All That Jazz" as a generic opener. They wrote it as a tribute to the legendary Texas Guinan, a 1920s night club hostess who used to greet her patrons with "Hello, Suckers!"
Think about "Mr. Cellophane." Most people just see a sad man in white gloves. In reality, that song is a direct homage to Bert Williams, one of the most famous African American entertainers of the Vaudeville era, specifically his song "Nobody." When Amos Hart sings about being invisible, he’s tapping into a century of performance history.
Then you’ve got "When You’re Good to Mama." It’s a classic "Sophie Tucker" number. If you listen to the way the lyrics lean into double entendres—"If you want my gravy / Pepper my pot"—it’s pure 1920s burlesque. It isn't just a song about a corrupt matron; it’s a specific character study of a bygone era.
Cell Block Tango and the Art of the "Justifiable" Crime
Probably the most famous of all the songs from the play Chicago, "Cell Block Tango" is a masterclass in rhythm. You’ve got the six merry murderesses of the Cook County Jail. "Pop." "Six." "Squish." "Uh-uh." "Cicero." "Lipschitz."
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It’s iconic.
But what makes it work isn't just the catchy beat. It’s the way the music shifts for each woman’s story. Annie’s segment (the one with the arsenic) feels different from June’s (the one with the carving knife). The song uses a recurring tango motif to ground the chaos, making the audience actually root for people who—let's be real—are definitely guilty. Except maybe for the Hungarian woman who doesn't speak English. That one is just sad.
The brilliance of the score is how it makes you feel like a co-conspirator. You’re laughing at "He had it coming," which is basically the show's manifesto.
The Subtle Genius of "We Both Reached for the Gun"
This song is a nightmare to perform and a dream to watch. Billy Flynn, the silver-tongued lawyer, treats Roxie Hart like a ventriloquist’s dummy. On stage, this is usually done with Roxie literally sitting on Billy’s lap while he "throws" his voice.
The musical structure here is a "patter song." It starts slow and builds into a frantic, high-speed frenzy. It’s a literal representation of how the media can be manipulated. The reporters in the show are portrayed as mindless instruments, echoing Billy’s lies until the lies become the "truth." It’s probably the most biting social commentary in the entire show, wrapped up in a jaunty, circus-like melody.
Why "Razzle Dazzle" Is the Show's Real Thesis
If you want to understand the songs from the play Chicago, you have to look at "Razzle Dazzle." It sounds like a shiny, happy showtune. It’s got that "oom-pah" circus beat. But the lyrics are incredibly dark.
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"Give 'em an act with lots of flash in it / And they'll never notice there's no ash in it."
That is the entire philosophy of the play. It’s the idea that as long as you put on a good show, nobody cares about justice, truth, or the fact that you’re a murderer. The music mimics this. It’s upbeat and inviting, tricking the listener into enjoying the spectacle of a sham trial. This is where Kander and Ebb really shine—they use the "happy" sound of theater to critique the very theater of life.
The Forgotten Gems: "Class" and "My Own Best Friend"
Not every song is a high-energy dance number. "Class" is often cut from film versions or edited heavily because it’s a slow, vulgar duet between Velma Kelly and Matron Mama Morton. They’re sitting there complaining that nobody has any manners anymore, all while using some of the most "un-classy" language in the show. It’s a brilliant irony.
Then there’s "My Own Best Friend." This was actually a late addition to the original 1975 production. Roxie and Velma realize that in the world of Chicago, nobody is going to save them. They have to save themselves. It’s an anthem of radical self-interest. It’s gritty. It’s honest. It’s the moment the two leads stop being rivals for five seconds and acknowledge the harsh reality of their situation.
Technical Nuance: The 1920s Sound in a Modern World
Musically, the score is a "pastiche." This means it’s imitating the styles of a previous era. But it doesn’t sound dated. Why? Because the orchestration relies heavily on a "hot jazz" ensemble rather than a traditional lush Broadway string section. You’ve got banjos, tubas, and a lot of muted trumpets.
The rhythm is almost always "swung."
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If you look at the sheet music for "All That Jazz," you’ll see the syncopation is relentless. It keeps the audience on edge. It feels like a heartbeat after three cups of coffee. This specific sonic palette is why the 1996 revival—which is still running on Broadway today—didn’t need to change a single note. It’s timeless because it’s so specific.
Common Misconceptions About the Score
A lot of people think "Nowadays" is a sweet song about the future. It’s not. It’s actually quite cynical. When Roxie sings "In fifty years or so / It's gonna change, you know," she’s being sarcastic. The show is telling us that the world has always been a circus and it always will be.
Another mistake? Thinking Billy Flynn’s "All I Care About" is a love song. It’s a parody of a love song. Billy claims he doesn't care about money, only love—while he’s actively shaking down his clients for five thousand dollars. The music is lush and romantic, mocking the very idea of sentimentality.
Actionable Insights for Theater Lovers
If you are planning to dive deeper into the songs from the play Chicago, don't just stick to the 2002 soundtrack. Do these things instead:
- Listen to the 1975 Original Cast Recording: Jerry Orbach (yes, the guy from Law & Order) is the definitive Billy Flynn. His delivery is much more "Vaudeville" and less "Hollywood."
- Watch the "Hot Honey Rag" Choreography: This is the instrumental finale. It was Fosse’s masterpiece. Every shimmy and finger snap is timed precisely to the brass hits in the music.
- Compare "Funny Honey" versions: Listen to how different actresses play Roxie’s realization that her husband is "not a genius." Some play it for laughs; some play it with pure venom. The music allows for both.
- Study the Lyrics of "Little Bit of Good": Mary Sunshine’s song is often overlooked, but it’s a technical marvel for a soprano, and the "twist" at the end of the character’s arc changes how you hear the song a second time.
The music of Chicago isn't just a backdrop for a story. It is the story. Every note is designed to manipulate you, just like the characters manipulate each other. It’s a brilliant, glittering trap of a score that remains one of the greatest achievements in American musical theater history.
Go find the 1996 London Cast recording if you want to hear Ute Lemper’s take on Velma. It’s weird, it’s aggressive, and it’s exactly what the show needs. You’ll never hear "All That Jazz" the same way again.