In Hear This, A.V. Club writers sing the praises of songs they know well—some inspired by a weekly theme and some not, but always songs worth hearing. This week, in anticipation of Coachella kickoff, we’re highlighting some of our favorite acts set to play the fest this year.
To be clear, with the exception of a one-time-only David Bowie appearance or a reunion by The Smiths or Talking Heads, I would never even consider going to Coachella. I attend two to three large music festivals per year, but I’ve never felt the pull to multiply all of their worst attributes by 10, then add a desert. Still, in each lineup, there is inevitably one act—usually someone who doesn’t perform all that often in the U.S.—that briefly gives me pause, provoking an internal debate, however begrudging, over whether this time it would be worth it. This year, it’s Bryan Ferry.
Ferry is now four decades removed from his debut with Roxy Music, and while time has been kind to his dapper looks, aided by his ever-timeless fashion sense, his voice is a different matter. The strange, showy vibrato that echoed out of some extraterrestrial dancehall on those albums has faded to a croaking whisper, burned by too many smoky nightclub situations. But as cruel as it would be to force Ferry to belt out “Editions Of You” these days, that lived-in croon is well-suited to the flickering torch songs that have long been his other forte. In fact, the more Ferry’s voice has corroded and crackled, the more expressive it’s become.