Chesney Hawkes @ ARC Centre, Stockton 18/03/26

Still The One And Only: Pop’s Perennial Underdog Leans Into The Chaos And Comes Out Grinning.

At Stockton’s ARC Centre, Chesney Hawkes proved there’s more mileage in him than a dusty pub quiz answer, delivering a set fuelled by charm, graft and a genuine affection for the craft.

“Alright, you do know there’s a new record, yeah?” he grins, absent-mindedly tweaking his

guitar between songs. A ripple of cheers cuts through the low hum of the ARC crowd. He

chuckles, shrugging it off: “Mad, innit? I didn’t see it coming either.”

Fleeting fame has a habit of chewing people up, spitting them out and moving on without a

backward glance. Back in the early ’90s, Hawkes was briefly unavoidable—the golden boy

behind a sugar-rush anthem that refused to leave the airwaves. Then came the drop-off:

lesser-known releases, dwindling chart presence, and a slow fade into nostalgia-circuit

territory.

But here’s the thing—he never really clocked out. While last year’s Living Arrows didn’t

exactly set the charts alight, it’s clear Hawkes isn’t chasing a second coming. Instead, he

leans into the nuts and bolts of performing, revelling in the details with an infectious

enthusiasm that carries this ARC crowd with him for the better part of an hour and a half.

Sporting a tousled quiff and flecks of grey, he’s fully aware of his legacy—and plays with it.

Alongside the usual run of tour shirts and tote bags, the merch table winks knowingly at his

former heartthrob image, with a few cheeky items thrown in for good measure. Whilst I

was possibly tempted with an ‘I Heart Chesney’ shirt, I drew the line at the thong

merchandise.

There’s a homespun looseness to it all, too. Behind the band, a makeshift backdrop

flickers with video clips of yesteryear, such as Buddy’s Song—the film that launched him

alongside Roger Daltrey—while detours into songs by Nik Kershaw and The Killers give

the night a slightly chaotic, karaoke-with-mates energy.

Midway through, Hawkes settles at the piano for a whistle-stop medley that initially lands

as one of the evening’s more disarming moments—loose, affectionate, and knowingly daft.

That is, until he veers into ‘Imagine’ by John Lennon—a swing that feels a touch overreaching even by his own tongue-in-cheek standards. “Didn’t write that one, mind,” he

shrugs, disarming any scepticism before it properly lands.

Audience participation reaches its peak with his now-regular golden ticket ritual. Each

night, one fan is plucked from the crowd; in Stockton, that honour falls to Paul—a man I’d

clocked earlier contorting himself into a reverse selfie while Hawkes roamed the stage.

Clearly devoted, he bounds up at the invitation with unfiltered enthusiasm, soon perched

beside Hawkes at the piano for an acoustic run at The One and Only. It teeters into

awkward territory—selfies and singalongs—but Hawkes navigates it with the ease of

someone who’s seen it all before, steering things back on course without missing a beat.

There’s a tight-knit knot of VIP laminate superfans planted firmly at the barrier, clearly not

on their first rodeo. A small plush penguin in a West Ham United shirt appears on his

piano. Hawkes clocks it, thanks its mysterious benefactor, and watches as one member of

the front-row contingent turns crimson (not Paul, this time). “What are we calling him

then?” he asks. “Bubbles!” comes the instant reply from the back. “Absolutely—perfect,

from now on you shall be called Bubbles” he nods, tipping a wink to his favourite football

club’s terrace anthem.

Still, it’s not all nostalgia and novelty. Tracks like I’m a Man Not a Boy land with a polished

confidence, while Nothing Serious glints with the same easy sheen. A quieter moment

arrives with the piano-led LOUD!, and a heartfelt take on Silence Is Golden—famously tied

to his father, Chip Hawkes—adds a touch of lineage to the set.

But there’s no dodging it forever. “Right then—this one,” he says, rolling his eyes with

mock reluctance. The opening chords hit, the room lifts, and suddenly The One and Only

is everywhere again—echoing around Stockton like it never really left.

For a man long defined by a single song, Hawkes still looks like he’s got plenty left to give.