"Good evening Seattle – oh shoot!" were the first words from the "ominous voice" of Leslie Feist at the Centre in Vancouver for Performing Arts last night, introducing her opening act, the self-proclaimed and Feist-endorsed "Musical Genius," Chilly Gonzales.

Genius is a bold claim, but after a half-hour set that swung from piano pyrotechnics to post-modern hip hop poetry few that witnessed Gonzales in this kind of form could dispute it. After a wordless five-minute introduction of keyboard wizardry, Gonzales faced the crowd to passionately decry the tyranny of major chords, and proceeded to make his point by delicately reinterpreting family favourites like "Happy Birthday" and "Frère Jacques" with minor chords. The results were refreshingly melancholic and utterly hilarious.

Abandoning the ivories for a set of bongos, his first lyrical outing was "Race Rap," confronting the distinctly non-hip hop crowd with couplets like, "The free market at its most basic/Obsessed with cars like Ric Ocasek… If that makes you nauseous/ I bet you don't know who the boss Rick Ross is."

Gonzales wound up his perfectly pitched set with another pseudo rant, this time raging against 4/4 beats, before demonstrating why he's the only artist that raps in 6/8.

"You're here watching a Canadian icon," he paused, "open for a singer."

The singer in question could muster a few votes for a Canadian genius herself. She certainly inspires a near-religious level of devotion from her fans. Indeed, at certain points, Feist gave the distinct impression that she wished the Vancouver crowd would quit worshipping and start enjoying itself.

"You sound comfortable," she suggested to the all-seated audience. "Maybe we should stick some musical bamboo shoots under your ear nails."

A radically reworked "Mushaboom" included an audience participation section that the crowd joined in with tentatively rather than boisterously. "My Moon My Man" prompted an outbreak of handclaps that never threatened to overpower the band.

Not that people weren't into it. The obligatory cries of "We love you Leslie" echoed around the arena during most breaks between songs. It was just that when it came to matters Feistian, this was a crowd that was more reverential than celebratory.

Given the music on offer, that made perfect sense. These weren't songs for partying to. They were songs to get lost in – simple acoustic melodies exploding into noise and life with the help a powerful band and Feist's own masterful guitar playing, aided by the closer-than-close harmonies of three female backing vocalists, and  a group confusingly named Mountain Man. Sonically rich and creamy, the overall effect was that of audio butter chicken; delightful, but notoriously difficult to dance to while digesting.

It was left until the encore for the show to hit its greatest heights. Leaving the band off stage, Feist began a serene "Cicadas and Gulls" with just a guitar and Mountain Man for company.

"On a scale of nothing to something," she asked the crowd, presumably still waiting for the response she was expecting, "Do you feel any of it?"

The roars that greeted "All of it" seemingly put her worries aside, at which point the band launched into a rapturously received punk rock version of "Feel It All." Having finally sparked the crowd into life, Feist encouraged a full-blown but well-mannered stage invasion for "Sea Lion Woman," then climbed on top of the piano, now played by Chilly Gonzales, for a stripped-down "The Limit To Your Love,"

"This is called Chanteusing," she grinned, looking down on Gonzales from the piano lid.

It was more than that. The whole evening was a masterclass from two artists wise enough to take their craft, but not themselves, seriously. Assuming you have the talent to make it work, that's the best way to be.