The other day I was listening to Brown Eyed Girl on JackFM. Who doesn’t love that song? Every brown eyed girl thinks the song is her anthem. Blue eyed girls wish they were brown eyed girls for about 3 minutes.
I listen close to the sound of his voice and nod in time to the music…yeah, that gravel in the voice. Right there, right at the base of the throat. He had that gravel and it was raw – raw from too many smokes, too many drinks, too many manys. His current sound is bloated and round.
His younger energy was raw and bad, man. He used to have “it” flowin’ out of his pores. Sweat and spittle and grit on the mike. Now “it” has been replaced. Replaced with rebirth and praise. I can appreciate the man lights up in a new way but his riffs of southern sound juxtaposed with hawaiian ukelele just don’t make it for me.
“Baby please don’t go. Baby please don’t goooohhooooo. Baby please don’t go down to New Orleans you know I love you so baby please don’t go.”
Well, baby. He went. He went into the Lord’s light. And who can blame him?