@elonmusk@DavidDeutschOxf Tru dat! Now you're in charge of delivering said 'hardware', instead of 'building' it.
I can just imagine the 'hardware' you have already been charge of delivering.
โX Secret Shipper Man ๐๐๐
@XEthanai This has to happen. It is 'the way'. The fight originates over whose way will be used.
'The Way'? โ๏ธ๐ This is what I have come to know and understand.
โ๏ธ Out.
@UnsealedTruthHQ Carlson isn't even going to bust a grape. Carlson IMO, loves to hear and read about his trapeze act on the nightly news and social media.
@ClownWorld Last I read, PP Diddler was back in solitary confinement. The 'Prisoner Powers To Be' must not want anymore of the money. Apparently, they're wanting something else. ๐ค Hmm...
Why Does This Simple Performance Still Hit So Hard?
Beverley Craven sits at a piano and sings โPromise Me.โ That is almost the whole performance.
There is no big band filling every space, no complicated staging, and no attempt to turn the song into a huge vocal showcase. She is wearing a dark dress, sitting behind the piano at Birmingham Symphony Hall in 1992, and for most of the song, you are simply watching her play and sing. It sounds very simple, but that is probably why this recording has lasted so well.
โPromise Meโ was already a hit in the UK by then, but hearing it this way makes you notice things that can get lost in a polished studio recording. Craven leaves the breaths in her voice. She doesn't rush the longer notes, and sometimes there is a little pause before she continues. She looks down at the keys, then back toward the audience. Nothing seems carefully designed to tell you, โThis is the emotional part.โ The song is allowed to do that on its own.
And the words are surprisingly direct. She isn't trying to explain a complicated relationship. Someone is about to leave, and she wants a promise before they go. That is a very ordinary human feeling. When you know you can't change someone's mind, sometimes all you can do is ask them for one thing to hold on to.
That may be why people keep coming back to this performance.
The comments under old recordings like this are full of people who heard the song decades ago and suddenly found themselves back in another part of their life. Someone remembers a breakup. Someone remembers being young. Someone heard it on the radio while studying. Someone connects it with a person they haven't seen in years. There are also people discovering Craven through YouTube who somehow know the melody already, even if they couldn't have told you who sang it.
That is one of the interesting things about old music. A song can disappear from everyday conversation without disappearing from people's memories.
Watching Craven in 1992, she is still young, but the song doesn't feel young. It has that slightly uncomfortable honesty that comes with knowing someone might walk away and you have no way to stop them. She doesn't need to act heartbroken for us to understand it. She just sings the words and lets the piano sit underneath them.
More than thirty years later, that still feels refreshing.
There are performances where the singer tries to make you remember the performance. This one does something different. It makes you remember the song, and maybe, if you have lived long enough, the person or the moment you once connected it with.
Sometimes that is enough.