A few angular turns on a clear, open canvas

Each generation has their singer. My parents grew up with and still love Sinatra (thanks to them, I do as well). Some may hear The Glenn Miller Orchestra, Elvis Presley, The Beatles, Merle Haggard, or even, God forbid, Madonna and her devil spawn, that Spears girl, and immediately feel as though they are spoken to. One such artisan for me is Robert Plant (Hey Mom! You can stop worrying -- I'm over KISS). Besides the poet laureate, Buffett, Plant was a musician that I gravitated to on my own because I felt spiritually moved by his voice -- still do.

I do remember the first time I ever heard his voice. I must have been a sophomore in high school when the senior class showed Led Zeppelin's The Song Remains The Same as a fund raiser in our school's auditorium. I have no idea what did it; I don't recall thinking deeply about much of anything in those days. I do remember that back then, as now, if I liked something, I really liked it. For me, Plant's voice was part of my young adulthood; a true master.

From the mysterious, thundering sounds of Led Zeppelin, to the lilting, romantic work he did with The Honeydrippers, and now with all of the diverse sounds that 25 years of a solo career has produced, I am still capitivated by, as he calls it, the angular musical turns that are made on his clear, open canvas.