Читать книгу A Case of You - Rick Blechta - Страница 4

She had a voice like an angel, smooth and complex as a twenty-year-old single malt, rich as thick cream. Everyone who heard Olivia sing felt as if she could see right into the depths of their souls, that her songs were meant for them alone. This was the magic her artistry conjured. In earlier times, she would have been put to death as a witch.

The real kicker was that Olivia had no idea how the magic worked. She’d just open her mouth and the song was there, no deep thought about the meaning of lyrics, no analyzing of how she wanted to shape a phrase, bending, stretching, adding notes until everything fit the way she wanted it to. Her pitch was dead on, and her innate sense of rhythm impeccable. Stunningly artless was the only way to describe her performances.

Her voice could produce with equal ease a mental image of a smoky bar at the end of a long night of drinking to forget a lost love, to highstepping down the sunny side of the street with a bluebird on her shoulder.

With no apparent effort, she made you believe she knew intimately everything about which she sang.

Such was the talent of Olivia Saint.