A child of coincidence and Harpo Marx.
His legacy precedes him.
There is no point. It’s all point.
The hurt that makes every feeling a shade of pain.
So talented, charismatic, and self-destructive!
His beats lit up the late ’80s with a genuine fire.
His folk singing evinces a forward-staring stoicism.
Sacred exhortations and electric blues.
He sang soul as if it were the black man’s country.
His early Hollywood music was darker than we recall.
Typist by day, jazzbo by night.
Anything could happen but nothing couldn’t be taken away.
An overlooked Motown Records songwriter.
“Babylon system is the vampire”
He looked — and sounded! — great in frills.
His solos elliptically paraphrase his melodies.
He got an early education in rock’n’roll cynicism.
Both a singular artist and a mensch.
His genius thrived in stages: chromatic, atonal, serial.
He could adapt to and enliven nearly any musical situation.
She mined veins of melancholy, fatalistic, introspective truth.
An unsurpassed fusion of energy, density, speed and lyricism.
His songs number in the thousands.
Spooky intelligence and challenging eroticism.