Fourteen-year-old Gabz walked onto the Britain’s Got Talent stage with a kind of bright, unselfconscious confidence that felt infectious. She was dressed in a colorful onesie that made her look more like someone who’d just come from a sleepover than a high-pressure audition, and that relaxed vibe immediately put the room at ease. When she introduced herself as a songwriter and pianist from London, there was a slight murmur of curiosity — not least because she revealed she’d only been playing piano for two years. Then she dropped another surprise: she was about to perform an original song called “The One,” a bold choice on a national stage where contestants often stick to familiar covers.
Her explanation of the song’s theme was equally fearless. “The One” tackles heartbreak — the kind of deep ache you associate with losing the love of your life — a heavy subject for anyone, let alone a young teenager. But Gabz shrugged off any questions about personal experience by saying she’d written it after watching movies, which in itself said something interesting about her creative instincts. She doesn’t need to have lived every emotion to understand how to translate it into narrative and melody. That perspective made her feel like a young storyteller — someone who observes, absorbs, and then reshapes those observations into something with universal pull.
From the first chords, it was clear she’d put thought into structure and dynamics. She started at the piano, coaxing a simple, emotive line that set a melancholic but melodic tone. Her voice was neither overly studied nor raw; it sat perfectly in the song’s middle ground — earnest, slightly husky, and memorable. The piano work was tidy for someone with only a couple of years of formal practice: confident left-hand rhythms, a tasteful right-hand pattern, and a sense of timing that kept the song moving. It was the kind of amateur polish that suggests both natural aptitude and lots of practice in bedrooms and local halls.
Then came a moment that defined the performance: a switch into a rap verse. She flowed into it with surprising ease, shifting the song’s texture from piano-driven pop to a rhythmic, spoken-word energy. That transition was more than a gimmick; it showcased her range as both a songwriter and a performer, and it added a contemporary edge that made the piece feel fresh rather than derivative. The rap itself was clever: compact, on-point, and delivered with conviction. It drew the audience in and underlined that Gabz wasn’t just relying on a pretty melody — she could craft lyricism with bite.
The chorus was the hook that would linger long after the performance ended. The line about holding “lighters in the air if you’ve ever felt scared ’cause you’ve lost the one” was instantly singable and emotionally resonant, a neat mix of theatrical imagery and teenage vulnerability. It invited the crowd to participate, and indeed, they did; hands rose, a few lit up phones bobbed, and the room clapped along. The audience reaction didn’t feel manufactured — it felt like genuine engagement with a song that had arrived fully formed and ready for an audience.
Judges’ feedback reflected that mix of admiration and constructive critique that often follows an original composition performed live. Alesha Dixon was taken with the hybrid nature of the performance, calling the combination of rap and piano “cool and different.” She recognized the bravery it takes to bring original material to a show known for covers and cover-based comparisons. Amanda Holden homed in on the chorus, describing it as “incredibly catchy” — the kind of compliment pop songwriters live for, because a memorable chorus is the currency of mainstream success.
Simon Cowell, ever the blunt evaluator, offered a pointed but encouraging assessment. He said she wasn’t the best pianist in the room — a fair note given her short time at the instrument — but he praised the song’s structure, especially the chorus, calling it a “great chorus” that could become something special if “produced properly.” That comment hinted at the industry pathway many young artists take: raw talent recognized on a big stage, then refined and amplified with professional production. Simon also mentioned her likeability, a key factor in an industry that often equates appeal with staying power. “It’ll be stuck in our heads,” he added, acknowledging the kind of commercial ear the show applies to new music.
Beyond the judges’ words, there was a sense of possibility in the room. For a 14-year-old to write a song with such clear structure, to perform it with personality, and to switch genres mid-song without losing coherence suggested she had something rare: an instinct for contemporary pop storytelling. It was easy to imagine “The One” in a small studio session with a producer, her piano line expanded into a fuller arrangement, the rap tightened and layered with harmonies, and that chorus turned into a radio-ready hook.
When the four unanimous “Yes” votes came through, it felt like recognition not just of a single performance, but of a budding artist at the beginning of a career. Gabz left the stage glowing, the kind of smile that comes from proving to yourself — and to a nation of viewers — that your work matters. In that moment, she wasn’t just a teenager in a onesie; she was a songwriter with a clear voice, a flair for storytelling, and the kind of tenacity that could carry her a long way.
