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Her style is bluesy and intimate with a sexy voice that's sweet as dark tupelo honey, and her interpretations are unerring. The musicians play to her and to each other, and the ensemble is so tight that the four musicians breathe and move as one.There are some standards on the set that knocked me over with their fresh approach. Any singer can misplace a few accents and rhythms and come up with something that's original, but perhaps also uneasy and a little strange. Not Gomes, who has taken the songs to their bones and then restructured them to suit her style. Thus "Fever" doesn't sound like a cover of Peggy Lee; it sounds like a brand new take on a familiar song. You emerge from hearing it not thinking it's better or lesser than Lee's version, but that it's a valid new interpretation that could have come first.
And don't get me started about country music. Was there ever a country song written that wasn't a story?
No one can beat Sinatra on story to tell, his FBI file reach 1300 pages:http://www.nytimes.com/1998/12/09/us/fbi-releases-its-sinatra-file-with-tidbits-old-and-new.html
Shadows are falling and I’ve been here all dayIt’s too hot to sleep, time is running awayFeel like my soul has turned into steelI’ve still got the scars that the sun didn’t healThere’s not even room enough to be anywhereIt’s not dark yet, but it’s getting thereWell, my sense of humanity has gone down the drainBehind every beautiful thing there’s been some kind of painShe wrote me a letter and she wrote it so kindShe put down in writing what was in her mindI just don’t see why I should even careIt’s not dark yet, but it’s getting thereWell, I’ve been to London and I’ve been to gay PareeI’ve followed the river and I got to the seaI’ve been down on the bottom of a world full of liesI ain’t looking for nothing in anyone’s eyesSometimes my burden seems more than I can bearIt’s not dark yet, but it’s getting thereI was born here and I’ll die here against my willI know it looks like I’m moving, but I’m standing stillEvery nerve in my body is so vacant and numbI can’t even remember what it was I came here to get away fromDon’t even hear a murmur of a prayerIt’s not dark yet, but it’s getting there
We are forgetting the master himself;