Kori Gillis: Soul Unstoppable

Kori Gillis. Photo by Kenneth Rexrode.

Kori Gillis isn’t the kind of artist you pigeonhole into neat categories. In a city that’s equal parts grit and glamour, he emerged as a musical dynamo—black, queer, and brimming with a sound that defies easy labels. With his voice dripping with vintage funk and raw soul slicing through the noise, Kori’s journey is a collision of military discipline, family roots, corporate hustle, and raw creative ambition. His recent show with Kenneth Rexrode’s Six String Society—a Stevie Wonder Tribute that drew over 1,500 fans—epitomizes his relentless energy. This isn’t a sanitized origin story; it’s a raw account of risk and reinvention, told in snippets of truth that Kori shared openly.

Born in East Chicago, how Kori came to settle in San Diego was intentional. “The navy brought me here. I used to sing for the navy in one of my prior lives,” he recalls with a wry twist of humor. There’s something brutally honest about how he frames his past—a past where being a musician in the military was a mad experiment in itself. His earliest arrival in the city dates back to 2005, when he moved to sing for Navy Band Southwest. For 14 years, he was a soldier and a performer, caught in a paradox where his passion was both encouraged and stifled by the military machine. “I joined the Navy to become a musician but the recruiters didn’t know how to get me an audition so they told me to pick something else. So, I was an air traffic controller,” he confesses. Even as he recounts his early days—spending two years in Spain, then finding himself stationed in a desolate outpost at China Lake, California—there’s an undercurrent of defiant humor. “It sounded like this beautiful lake…they didn’t tell me that the lake was dry! It was remote in the middle of the Mojave Desert,” he laughs. “Vegas was a few hours away; San Diego was a few hours away. So that’s how I figured out I wanted to live in San Diego.” After stints in Europe and the inevitable pull of home, his return to San Diego in 2012 wasn’t just relocation; it was the beginning.

Growing up, music was less a planned curriculum and more an undercurrent in the daily rhythm of his family life. In a household where melodies were woven into every conversation, his grandmother’s piano and soulful church hymns formed the first chords of his existence. “My grandmother played piano and sang in church, but she was the only one that I would say would gig. She had seven children. Out of those seven, five of them are singers. They all sang. Grandma was the only person that played an instrument,” he explains, his tone carrying both fondness and a hint of irony. Family gatherings weren’t about formal lessons, they were about absorbing the vibe, the pulse of sound that filled the air. It wasn’t long before he discovered that his destiny was not to be a background singer at Sunday services. “I play piano but not with the band. It was just not a thing,” he admits, almost dismissively, as if the path was always destined to veer off the well-worn trail. His initiation into music was a series of small discoveries—first the drums, then the keys, until finally, his voice cut through everything like a rallying cry. “There was no going back once I found singing.”

Gillis in the Navy.

After stepping away from the regimented life of military service, Kori plunged into the world of corporate gigs—a domain where art meets commerce, and creativity is squeezed into the narrow margins of contract work. “I started doing corporate work. It was the first thing that I found,” he recounts, his tone both matter of fact and reflective. Corporate shows became a kind of apprenticeship in versatility, where performing was about soul but also about precision and dependability. These gigs definitely paid the bills, but they also became a playground for innovation. Between performing for Lucky Devils and working with Sea World/Apex Entertainment, Kori found unexpected joy in routines that could have easily become monotonous. “I just did their holiday show, which is different from what I normally do,” he reveals. The challenges were real—imagine performing the same 20-minute set over and over, only to discover new layers of expression with each run. It was during these long days that he’d start throwing in bits of theatrical flair—a nod to his earlier experiences with community theater. “By the end of it I started throwing in the Wicked run to keep it entertaining,” he recalls, referring to the viral Cynthia Erivo battle cry at the end of the musical’s most popular song, “Defying Gravity.” The corporate circuit might seem like a safe, sanitized environment, but for Kori it was an arena where the boundaries between art and commerce blurred, and the mundane was transformed into moments of unexpected brilliance, defying gravity himself.

Gillis, performing with Whitney Shay. Photo by Kenneth Rexrode.

The year 2020, with all its chaos and uncertainty, served as the impetus for transformation. In a time when fear and isolation were rampant, Kori’s internal dialogue turned into creative fuel. “2020 was a very interesting time. Honestly, it was kind of scary if I’m going to be completely transparent. There was a lot of fear of the unknown. We didn’t know what was going to happen. A lot of healthy people were here one day and gone the next,” he confesses, laying bare the vulnerability that underpins his artistry. In that collective anxiety, he found the resolve to do something he’d always dreamed about but had long hesitated to attempt: a full album of original music. The artistic drive was a reckoning with mortality and legacy. “I asked myself, ‘When I’m not here anymore, what do I want to leave the world with?’ I’ve always wanted to complete an album and that was the motivation to finally get that done,” he explains. This wasn’t about chasing awards or fitting into a genre; it was about creating something that would stand as a testament to his journey—a snapshot in time that would echo his triumphs and his struggles. Silver Lining, which later earned Gillis a nomination for Best R&B Soul or Funk album for the San Diego Music Awards, wasn’t the product of a calculated strategy; it was the culmination of years of silent yearning and the raw energy of a man determined to leave his mark by making people smile. Here’s a dare; Try not to smile while reading the infectiously positive lyrics of his title track: Just like the hummingbirds in flight/ Shooting stars across the sky/ You are the magic in my life/ You are the silver lining. Now imagine a sick beat, a voice like butter, and smooth choreography.

Photo by Dale John.

Reflecting on his breakthrough album, Silver Lining, Kori remains refreshingly unpretentious about his journey. “Being nominated right out the gate was really mind blowing for me. My goal was just to do it because I wanted to do it and not embarrass myself. I just wanted it to be something I could be proud of, that I could listen to. That was a big reason why I had never done it before. I would write songs and go back and listen and be like, ‘I don’t think I like this anymore.’ I think it takes a lot of practice getting used to listening to yourself. But I think the more you do it, the more comfortable you get. You get a little bit more objectivity.” His focus seems to be on perfecting his craft, a common pursuit driven purely by the desire to create music that resonates. Once the world opened up again, he was ready to showcase that music.

When Kori Gillis puts on a concert, he engineers a genuine spectacle. His album release party wasn’t just a show, it was a fully realized, high-octane experience, the kind that leaves audiences breathless and talking about it for years.

Roller skaters (Kori included) glided through the crowd. Drag queens commanded the stage with enough charisma to light up a city block. There were elaborate costume changes, tightly executed choreography, and an energy that never dipped below exhilarating. It was less a gig and more a variety show on steroids as well as a testament to Gillis’ joyful creativity.

“I never really thought of it that way,” he says, laughing at the comparison. “But I guess it makes sense. I have to go back to my musical theater beginnings. I’ve always loved it.”

Gillis doesn’t just sing, he moves, he performs, he brings a whole world to life with every set. “I love to dance almost as much as I love to sing,” he says. “I enjoy choreography. I love to skate. Why not do all of it?”

As a spectator, the goals are obvious. It’s about pushing boundaries, making every second count, and giving his audience something unforgettable. “I get inspired watching other artists do their thing,” he says, nodding to the dancers and skaters who help bring his vision to life. And that vision? It’s pure magic—an explosion of joy, movement, and sonic brilliance that makes every Kori Gillis show an unmissable event.

Kori, like many creatives, knows that music has never been just about sound. His identity as a black queer artist in a landscape that’s often inhospitable to difference carries with it an inherent responsibility. When asked about the challenges of representation, he doesn’t mince words. “I think representation for me is the biggest thing. Personally, there’s always racist micro-aggressions. It happens so often I really have stopped paying attention to it. It doesn’t serve me to pay attention to it,” he declares, his words a blend of exasperation and resolute defiance. The stage is, of course, a platform for entertainment but at times it can be a battleground where social issues are waged in real time. It’s in the thunderous applause of an audience—comprised of faces that rarely see themselves reflected in mainstream narratives—through which Kori says he finds solace and strength. “It makes me happy when I’m on stage and I see young, black queer people cheering and clapping and singing along,” he observes. It’s a sentiment that underscores his every performance—a commitment to dismantling the barriers that have long stifled the voices of those on the margins.

Beyond the spectacle, Gillis’ shows carry a deeper resonance: they are radically inclusive. The stage isn’t just a place for him to shine, it’s a space for a culture grab-bag of voices, talents, and backgrounds to come together in perfect harmony. His band and performers span cultures, identities, and experiences, making every performance feel like a celebration of human diversity.

“I can’t say that was an intentional goal,” he admits. “I think it just happened because that’s who I am. I’m surrounded by all different kinds of people, and I draw inspiration from everywhere. That’s how I live my life, so naturally, it’s reflected in my show.”

It’s that openness, that effortless ability to make everyone feel seen by being boldly authentic, that sets Gillis apart. His concerts entertain, yes. The more impressive thing they do is unite, turning every venue into a place where music, movement, and community collide in the most exhilarating way possible.

The conversation inevitably turns to the politicized debates that have surged in recent weeks. Kori’s response as a performing artist to the controversial dismissal of diversity, equity, and inclusion initiatives is as direct as it is passionate. “The first thing I will say is that I read something that really resonated with me, which is that people use DEI as the ‘bad word.’ What they won’t say are the actual words it stands for—Diversity, Equity, Inclusion. When you say it out loud like that it becomes apparent how awful it is that you want to remove that,” he asserts, dissecting the shallow rhetoric that too often obscures deeper issues. His critique is unflinching: without DEI, the door is opened for old, discriminatory practices to creep back in. His words slice through the mealy-mouthed confusion of corporate jargon and political doublespeak. “If we don’t have DEI, we have discriminatory practices and I feel like that’s just common sense,” he insists, challenging the notion that meritocracy can exist in a vacuum devoid of intentional diversity. “It’s not like we solved racism.”

For Kori, every performance is imbued with this activist spirit—a refusal to be complicit in systems that deny people their rightful space. Instead of it being an abstract ideological position; it’s a lived reality, echoed in the micro-aggressions he faces in corporate environments and the liberating roar of a diverse crowd at his shows.

Gillis, the consummate performer, at the Stevie Wonder Tribute show. Photo by Liz Abbott.

Fresh off a performance that was nothing short of a cultural event, Kori’s live show with Kenneth Rexrode’s Six String Society was a vivid demonstration of his artistry and his boundless ambition. The tribute to Stevie Wonder wasn’t a mere cover set, it was a full-throttle exploration of a musical legacy that spans decades. “I should first say that Stevie Wonder has over six decades of music so it’s a very large catalog. He’s just been a huge inspiration for me. I like to say he was my first vocal teacher,” Kori reveals, his admiration palpable. The show was a kaleidoscopic journey through Wonder’s storied repertoire—from the deep cuts that few dare to attempt to the unmistakable anthems that demand every ounce of your soul. It was a performance designed to make you move, to challenge you to dance whether you planned to or not. “But, ultimately, it’s a dancing show. So, whether it’s in the theater or not, the people are dancing. That’s the main thing that happens,” he explains with a hearty laugh. The logistics were as impressive as the performance, a 13-piece band, meticulously arranged to capture every nuance of the legendary artist’s sound. His collaboration with longtime military friends and mentors, like his first boss from the Navy band, Roy G. Brown, and Silver Linings drummer, Christopher Cancelliere underscored a full-circle moment that resonated deeply with him. There’s an inherent risk in paying tribute to icons, but Kori’s approach was less about imitation and more about interpretation, crafting a set that was both a homage and a reinvention. It’s that openness, that effortless ability to make everyone feel seen, that sets Gillis apart. His concerts unite, turning every venue into a place where music, movement, and community collide in the most exhilarating way possible.

Gillis at the keyboards. Photo by Dale John.

Kenneth Rexrode, who was introduced to Gillis in 2022, was immediately struck by his presence and artistry. “Kori is one of the truly great singers in San Diego. His soul and passion for the music he continually delivers is magnetic,” Rexrode said. “When I think of Kori, I think of someone who embodies the spirit of heart, soul, and kindness.”

Even as he continues to honor music legends like Stevie Wonder, Kori is making moves of his own. “I’m actually writing again,” he says, a boyish gleam of excitement in his eyes. “I already have about four songs that are complete and ideas for a few others.” Kori confesses he’s not sure about a full album just yet, but singles are definitely on the way. “Right now I’m just in the writing phase, a lot of it’s still in my head. We’ll see when it comes to fruition. 2025 is going to have more music from Kogee Soul,” he teases, giving fans a glimpse into his ever-evolving musical world. He revealed he’s planning a major shift for his next project. “This one is going to have a lot more ballads,” he said with a smile. “I was scared of ballads on the first album! I guess because I always want things to be energetic. I like to dance so much, and I want people to dance. So, I didn’t do any on my last album—it’s a funk, move-groove album.” But now, things are changing. “The first song I wrote for this new one is actually a ballad about self-love. So many songs are about romantic love, I thought, ‘What about self-love?’ We forget that,” he adds thoughtfully.

Looking ahead, Kori’s infectious energy shows no sign of slowing down. He’s not chasing trends or grand declarations—he’s simply evolving as a musician and entertainer. With new projects on the horizon and a stage presence that’s as delightful as it is magnetic, his promise is clear: every performance is a fresh adventure. A new chance to smile. As he gears up for more shows and the next chapter of his career, his words linger as an invitation to experience music in its most joyful, unfiltered form. Together.

Catch Kori singing in these upcoming events:

• Mardi Gras show at Louisiana Purchase in North Park on Fat Tuesday, March 4.
• The annual Mustache Bash (a ’70s music utopia) on March 22, on Mariners Point in Mission Beach.
• ’90s R&B show at AWOL in Hillcrest on Sunday, April 6.