Imitating the Sins of our Heroes

Or, “How to sing like Otis Redding”

Occasionally, I’ll pop on some Otis Redding in the car. Sue me.

I enjoy Redding’s voice so, I sing along. So what? This makes my girlfriend laugh. Incensed like a toddler, I ask why she’s laughing at me. She tells me that I sound like Kermit.

So I say, “But he kinda sounds like Kermit,” and she’s like, “Yeah, but he’s Otis Redding.”

Otis Redding doesn’t sing technically perfect. He squeezes his voice; he sings with his throat. He warbles, if that’s a word. He makes you worry if he’s going to mess up. Then, he always manages to clutch it, like a gymnast sticking the landing after a terrifying close-call.

A virtuoso violinist plays all the notes correctly: it’s impressive, but a little bit boring. But, a sweaty violinist playing at the limit of her ability, hair coming out of her ponytail, even if her ability is lesser: we’re enthralled.

Faults make the singing not only relatable, they make Otis Redding Otis Redding; they’re the reason that no one else can do what he does. He unselfconsciously casts beautiful shadows from the light of his genius. The result something wholly singular.

Whenever I try to imitate him, I imitate the things that are wrong about his singing style and…