My buddy's brother is a singer/songwriter...and his name is Robert.
I first met George's brother Robert in a smoky NY club. When I arrived, Robert was already on stage and his proud and helpful brother was running about setting things up - living in the vicariousness to his sibling that can only be applied to the brotherly love and selflessness that is George. He is surely the only man I know who's endless pride can be quelled by his willingness to allow the ego of those he loves to be quenched. <-- read it again. I had to as well, but its true.
Anyway, Robert: He sings like a girl. Meaning he sounds like one. He has a four hundred and seven octave range and chooses to sing in the higher ones, so when you listen to him sing but aren't listening to the words and the depth of the lyrics you swear you are hearing a pop-girl belt out ballads she didn't write. But like all the Matarazzos I know, they grow on you.
Usually about five or six minutes (or eight) into a Robert tune I feel the hairs on my neck stand up - fully aware of the magic. It takes that long because he's one guy, one guitar and one microphone. Ah...and one loop-machine! But its still only one man. You see, the art that is Robert is that he builds everything in front of you, piece-by-piece, and somewhere in the late minutes you hear what he was trying to share with you from the start - and its fucking magic.
Check him out: Robert Matarazzo - and while you're listening, remember: 1 man, 1 guitar - that it!
While writing this I felt the hairs go on-end as I listened to: Anger=Game by Robert Matarazzo.
