I love the beautiful voices of Andrea Bocelli and Julio Iglesias, which must have been delivered by angels on the day of their birth. They take me to places I have never been but I still haven’t quite discovered how to get there on my own.

My real passion however is for a voice with a little grit in it. A voice that lets you know that they have weathered a few storms and are prepared to share their pain with you. Pour Tom Waits, Joe Cocker, Kris Kristofferson or John Fogerty on the rocks and I’ll drink them straight up and find my way back on my own any day of the week. That little devil sitting on their shoulder is like homing beacon to my spirit.

Yesterday I discovered a new talent, or I guess I should say he found me. I received a friend request from a Myspace musician. I rarely stop by Myspace these days because of health issues but I decided to check him out.

Robert Larisey hails from my hometown, Carleton Place, Ontario, Canada. It is a town that I left at the age of seventeen so I certainly have never made his acquaintance. His music is being produced by another young, talented singer/ songwriter, Brock Zeman of Mud Music Records who happens to be the son of an old friend I haven’t seen since my youth.

I was in pain as I turned on the music player, real pain, the kind that steals the colours from your world and leaves you barely hanging on and wondering why you even bother. I intended to listen to one song and head for bed. I listened to all three……… over and over.

It seems Lariesy may have crawled into humanity’s collective soul one night while we were all sleeping and left his guitar pic there. The passion, despair and angst pouring out of him couldn’t help but resonate with something in everyone’s life and it was certainly connecting with mine.

The honesty of the lyrics reminded me of many great writers, Kristofferson in particular, on one of his many famous Sunday mornings.

Larisey band knows how, or was directed perhaps, to blend into the background and not try and upstage him.  We are more aware of them somehow and very grateful of their company for surely they are listening too. There is no overproduction here but a feeling that you are in a small bar or have stumbled into a jam session in your own home and you remain quiet least they should decide to leave. We don’t need any coaching.

When I finally broke away humming “Wishful Thinkin' ” I was surprised to find no empties to pick up but there was a little devil on my shoulder whispering, “Seems there’s one more thing to hang on for.” Then he dug his teeth in again and I turned the music back on and drifted away.
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