That Voice, or a Study in Opposites

(edited as I thought of other stuff)

I often wonder why some singers appeal to some people more than others.  Why is it that we gravitate to the voices of some and some just don't do it for us, some make us reach down to turn the radio channel?  Do we all have a pre-programmed frequency to which we resonate?  Are we really just tuning forks waiting to be struck?

There are several artists I should like because of their similarity to other artists I like (I'll wait while you puzzle that out), but I can't stand to listen to them because there is something in their voices that irritates me.  James Taylor is one of the best examples of this.  He is SO MUCH like David Wilcox that people who know I listen to David Wilcox can't quite believe it when I make a face and switch off the station playing Taylor.  Their voices are even close, but there is something....I don't know...plaintive?...whiny?...like a shard of glass being driven into my brain through my ears?... when I have to listen to Taylor.  I could listen to, and have listened to, David Wilcox all day long.  It's strange.

Then there are the voices that catch me and that I adore.  Adam Levine's is one.  I don't like everything that comes out of Maroon5, but I love his voice.  And when he puts it through its paces, it's like hot honey, ridiculously sexy.  I'm not even sure what he looks like, to tell you the truth, wouldn't know him if I passed him on the street, but his voice when he sings lines like "Take me by the tongue / And I'll know you / Kiss me 'til you're drunk / And I'll show you" is pure sin.  There's stuff like that on Songs about Jane, too.  He should have been a Cavalier poet.  He missed his calling.  He could have Carped that Diem right along with the best of them....

Anyway. I've lost my thread, I think.

Right now, two of my favorite feel-good songs have him in them, "Moves like Jagger" and "Stereo Hearts."  Both of them are pure fluff, about as deep as a wading pool, but when they come on and I hear that gorgeous voice filter through my speakers, I turn them way, way up, sing along like a fool, and feel better about life.  I got stuck in one-lane nightmare traffic today traveling and "Stereo Hearts" came on.  Instantly, it did not matter that we were in a 150-car line at the mercy of a timorous U-Haul driving about 40 in a zone marked as 55.  Life was beautiful.  Thank you, Adam Levine.

Ray LaMontagne is probably at the opposite end of the spectrum in style and sound from Adam Levine, but he also has one of the "those" voices.  I stumbled across him by accident on Pandora when I made a mix station from either the Wood Brothers or Chris Thile, and even though I was reading, I dragged myself across the room to the computer to see who the hell that was with that unearthly gorgeous voice.  I just got my first album by him, and I'm wearing it out.  His lyrics have emotion, and that gentle little rasp in his tone adds to their expression.  I deliberately chose an older album by him to start with.  Songs on it that I particularly like are "Hold You in My Arms," "All the Wild Horses," and "Burn."

I also have a version of "Crazy" by him that somebody else let me hear, a song I was already in love with in its faster incarnation because of its lyrics.  Under LaMontagne's stripped down interpretation, the words, already something strong, become something that take you by the throat and hold on.  It's incredible.

It would be interesting to know what makes these two artists (and the others I like, the greats like Ella and Billie, another pair of opposites taken as an example) pleasing to my ears.  I really do wonder if there is any research out there on that.  I mean certainly I'm not the only person in the world that likes this artist or that one; but I just wonder if  the set that I like is somehow predetermined.  Probably this is one of those questions that isn't really important enough for science to look into, so I'll just continue to listen to these folks, sing along in the privacy of my solitude, and wonder about it myself.