One thing personal life bloggers often document in the content of their personal life blogs is a taste in music. Everyone listens to music. Everyone has to listen to music, unless they are deaf, because music is played almost everywhere these days. Eventually, most people come to detect patterns in all that din and shortly thereafter they begin rank the patterns in order of preference. So I'm going to indulge in a little bit of that myself in the next paragraph.
With a few exceptions, I don't like country music. The patterns I detect in country music, by and large, do not resonate with me and don't cause the formation of particularly exciting patters of electrical activity in my brain. So it is a fittingly Divine irony that my favourite singer is from a genre I don't like. It is also another fittingly Divine irony that he is a male falsetto. It is also yet another fittingly Divine irony that he yodels, a vocal style in the dorky zone with belching death metal grunts and beatboxing. So, who the fuck am I talking about anyway?
Slim Whitman. He has one of the most beautiful voices imaginable. I don't have much more to add to that. It's like the tiniest glimpse of the sounds of the afterlife. His most beautiful number ever recorded is a version of Cattle Call, but they don't have that over at the You Tube website, so I'm going to embed a YouTube object featuring a live version of Rose Marie.
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Judging by my Little Brother Stat Counter, people seem to like this post, so I've left a comment on it!
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