erasure of a review by ben ratliff of a performance by manuel agujetas

if you have any interest in the void, Manuel Agujetas is your man

everybody says i have the face of a dead man
he sang in dire, unaccompanied spanish,
his chant sounding ancient, blurred by rasp.
it's what happens when life isn't going well
he sat on a chair, staring forward, hands on knees,
eyes deep like creases, an old scar running
a singer of the old, defined by rhythm and mode.
tense, shaking, sobbing, used-
he shouted, and the sounds retreated
lonely, piercing, whining,
and he ended nearly every song the same way
abruptly rising, sweeping his arms
apart to indicate that the finish was total
and then he sat back down
and called out for another,
and started singing again,
slightly bent, clapping and looking rueful.
often he just pointed a finger as he sang,
his violence controlled, but at certain moments he
flapped his forearms in a ritual of anguish
his vibrato more pronounced, a constant deep throb
as if he were singing a whole range of notes at once
everything punitively sad
each group of words separated by deep and complete pause
one song told a story, a prostitute who wore a crucifix.
everytime she took off her clothes, the crucifix would cry.
after a while he pointed to his throat and said
this is not a machine
and two songs later, he was done. 




http://www.nytimes.com/2012/05/24/arts/music/manuel-agujetas-at-elebash-recital-hall.html