Меня всегда очень трогали такие люди, как Алекс Харви и Иэн Дьюри, которые на сцене были самими собой. Даже Дэвид Боуи, при его хамелеоновом подходе к вещам, в основном поет своим собственным голосом.
"Back-Door Angels"
In and out of the front door, ran twelve back-door angels.
Their hair was a golden-brown ---
they didn't see me wink my eye.
`Tis said they put we men to sleep with just a whisper,
And touch the heads of dying dogs --- and make them linger.
They carry their candles high --- and they light the dark hours.
And sweep all the country clean with pressed and scented wild-flowers.
They grow all their roses red, and paint our skies blue ---
drop one penny in every second bowl ---
make half the beggars lose,
why do the faithful have such a will to believe in something?
And call it the name they choose,
having chosen nothing.
Think I'll sit down and invent some fool ---
some Grand Court Jester.
And next time the die is cast, he'll throw a six or two.
In and out of the back-door, ran one front-door angel,
Her hair was a golden-brown ---
she smiled and I think she winked her eye.
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Иэн Андерсон