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The stamp is the tool that identifies the singer.
It has a angular voice, brown like the dry leaves of autumn; Sometimes acidic, like a freshly caught citrus. Discushed, scruffy and shy.
It passes into the mask and nose to explode in the straight, penetrating microphone: a well -stucked arrow, which can hurt.
Bob Dylan's voice.
It has the voice of the mulberry; Purched off from fresh morning drops.
From the belly, to every breath, he seems to want to go out pins of a pain swallowed, kept close inside by the candor of a velvet dress.
The voice of Maria Callas.
Before the voice, the rhythmic breath: like a sound breath of a Peter Pan who would have liked to grow, but condemned and at the same time curbed with the child's voice.
Sweetly screeching, torture; At times they growl, like a puppy that has made the claws grow, jumping agile on the peaks of the falsetti.
Michael Jackson's voice.
Three examples, three voices, three personalities, three stamps. And a thousand questions.
What is a singer?
Or, more deeply, what is a voice?
Is it a tool that smooths and educates so that it codifies: intoned, not intoned?
Or even even: pleasant-scale?
The voice is the most intimate thing that talks about us; Before verbalization, which is a translation of thought, feeling; Before the eyes, which are only momentary looks.
With his voice he brings a experience, he puts himself on the plate because everyone takes a bite and feel the taste of that person.
There are an infinite number of singers who have preferred the stamp, which have enhanced it above everything else, making it the key to their poetics, and their success. But before this it is easy to think that many sung have "suffered" it their stamp, before making it a weapon.
They learned to know their stamp so as not to be slaves, so as not to be choked.
The stamp of a singer then becomes like a pact with the listener; And each "play" becomes the key to the opening of that specific very personal room in which the artist and the user ideally meet, furnished in a certain way, scruffy or well -kept, shiny or semi -final.
On the part of the singer there is the urgency of singing, the urgency of undressing because he himself also accepts his nudity. And each song is every time a new look in the mirror ... who knows, sometimes despising their stretch marks, scars, distortions, vices, wrinkles; Other times hugging them, perhaps most of the time embracing them and taking care of them, for an eternal comparison with themselves, and an eternal affirm:
"This is me."
On the other hand, the listener also wants to recognize himself in these uniqueness, in the weaknesses and fragility, or in the proud hears of passion, or in bitter smiles.
He wants to recognize himself within that voice, before the words that take shape in the lips of the singer, to see us mirrored in their own experience; And it does not matter that that experience has really been lived, it can also be an imagined and imaginary experience that lies like in a distant bubble: in an atavistic memory, in a feeling that goes more deeply of the word, in an ambiguous desire.
A desire that cannot be grabbed, just like the stamp itself that is a decoupage made of fabrics, pieces, ratoppi and budgets, between something innate and something that has lived, something that has been learned and something you are assimilated.
The stamp is an intimate identikit , a raw diamond that must be worked and that can determine the success of a singer, if this manages to impose it on the ears of those who listen to it: it has the power to set in memory.
The questions remain, but the mystery of the voice is precisely the push that makes us sing.
Read also the article: Voices powder
