I came across a particularly fun Rolling Stone listicle the other day — it’s probably old — but it got me thinking. About myself, first (as most things do), then about this town.
The mag’s Top 200 Greatest Singers of All Time is as semi-accurate as “expert” subjective taste allows if a little off at times. I mean, Elvis ahead of Marvin Gaye and Nina Simone? Prince and Bob Dylan ahead of Elvis? Billie Eilish at 198? When she’s maybe the greatest vocal stylist working today? And why is John Lennon even on this list at all? We have questions.
Instead of leaving a spicy comment on RollingStone.com — because I’d already rattled my fist at a cloud that day — I turned my thoughts closer to home. But first, my list.
“Lists,” actually, because there are two of them. And they’re not “the greatest” or anything else straining for ever-elusive objectivity — art is not science. My lists are my favorites, and my favorites are Grace Jones (top singer) and Jim Morrison (No. 1 frontperson). After Grace in “singers,” let’s say there’s a little Adam Duritz, Bjork, and Martin Sexton, plus a touch of Kenny Loggins (no joke), Seal, Gino Vannelli (still not joking), Babs, Peter Cetera (still so not joking), and Nina Simone, along with a healthy dose of Moz, Liza, the King, Laura Nyro, and Nat King Cole, in no particular order.
For frontpeople, it’s a lot of my favorite singers alongside Dua Lipa, Michael Stipe, Lana Del Rey, Little Richard, Amy Ray, Diamond Dave, and Sir Elton. (I reserve the right to update this list as I see fit post-publication. I have spoken!)
My “objective” lists would be slightly different. I don’t like or dislike Freddie Mercury, but I can say objectively that he was an amazing vocalist and at one point the best showman on the planet, so while he’s not on either of my favorites lists, he would be on both of my semi-objectively great ones. Same with Aretha, Bruce Springsteen, Madonna, and probably all the other household names who usually populate these things.
Now. Who are my favorite singers and/or frontpeople from the Fort? Up until I became editor of this fine rag about 10 years ago, I wrote about Fort Worth music and only Fort Worth music every week or more for over a decade. A dozen years, 52 weeks a year — that’s a shitload of local music stories I’ve written. And in that time, I came across a lot of insane talents, and quite a few singers have stayed with me — off the top of my head: Shea Seger, John Price, Brandin Lea, and I’m sure there’s a ton more. I’ve always dug the giddily bizarre, disquieting register of Aaron Bartz’s instrument (Tame … Tame & Quiet), the subtle, syrupy twang of Ginny Mac, and the smoky soul of Sam Anderson (Quaker City Night Hawks). I’d even say some of our local voices are as technically adept if not more aesthetically singular than a lot of R.S.’s names. And I’m not even including Leon Bridges, Vaden Todd Lewis, Maren Morris, and any other homegrown products who transcended “local” a while back. The whole deal makes you wonder if Rolling Stone’s experts dared to listen to something other than what the major labels mail daily to 475 5th Ave, pop music — maybe even the planet itself — would be much better off. R.S. Editor Noah Shachtman has a standing invitation. First stop: Bearded Lady. Then, a local show.
