I’ll confess that, before I watched this passionate solo show, I knew very little about Belgian-born singer-songwriter Jacques Brel.  I’d heard, of course, that he’s still lionised in France – and that like so many artistic idols, he’d died relatively young. But I knew little of his music and nothing at all about his life, an ignorance which writer and performer Simon Pennicott has made it his mission to correct.  In character as Brel, he talks us through the great man’s story, punctuating the narrative with his own English-language translations of some classic songs.

In contrast to many biographical pieces, Brel never feels weighed down with facts.  It takes in Brel’s whole life, but it covers the ground nimbly, repeatedly returning to an inspiring manifesto – an injunction to make mistakes, feel emotion and chase your dreams.  Pennicott’s performance embodies those principles, often ebullient, always open-hearted, sometimes wild and humorous but always under control.  The songs are uniformly well-chosen as well, plucking just the right number from Brel’s extensive catalogue to make a point about the singer’s path through life; the delivery of Ne Me Quitte Pas (Don’t Leave Me) at the point of Brel’s retirement is nothing short of electrifying.

The most fascinating aspect of Pennicott’s script – which, quite rightly, he highlights in his programme notes – is how wildly his own translations of Brel’s French lyrics differ from familiar English-language versions of the same songs.  You can see it most clearly in sardonic deathbed address Le Moribond, which is almost unrecognisable as the source for Christmas hit Seasons In The Sun.  I can’t comment on the faithfulness of Pennicott’s translations, but they certainly have an elegance about them – and, crucially, have the emotional depth needed to illustrate Brel’s tale.  Towards the end, he cleverly turns the tables, singing in French to give us Brel’s own translation of a familiar English-language song, The Impossible Dream.

For Pennicott, playing Brel evidently wasn’t an impossible dream – but it’s clearly a passion project, and that emotional connection with his subject matter truly shows.  Conversely, however, his engagement with the audience can be patchy.  Part of that’s down to the weird performance space, which sees us seated in two separate groups out of sight of each other, and forces Pennicott to turn away from one bank of seats if he wants to address the other.  But there’s a fundamental tension in play here as well: Brel’s bravura stage persona contrasts with the intimate tone of some of his narrative, an obvious gulf which this show doesn’t quite manage to bridge.

At the performance I attended, the first few songs suffered from a rather muddy sound mix too; but the problem seemed to be solved after the interval, so I’ll write that one off as an opening-night glitch.  Overall, this is a seductive and convincing musical play, and a testament to the virtue of a life lived at a thousand times the pace of others.  But all things must pass, and Brel’s candle burned out all too quickly: so the tenderest of all the songs are saved for the end, with a final address to his lifetime love and a poignant reflection on old age.  It’s an affectingly emotional conclusion, the perfect match for a free-spirited and highly entertaining show.