The Voice -- might as well start capitalizing it here -- was simply working its spooky subliminal magic. Did it help that the singer was clearly in need of a good meal, that his mouth was voluptuously beautiful, that his electric-blue eyes were attractively wide with fear and excitement, that he knowingly threw a little catch, a vulnerable vocal stutter, into his voice on the slow ballads? It helped. It whipped into a frenzy the visceral excitement that his sound had started. But the sound came first. There was simply nothing like it.
1 comment:
He was really something, early on. Later too but we forget how otherworldly he was in the first years when with each breath he earned another gasping increment of fame.
Post a Comment