At first he relied on what he was used to. Starting soft with only a little pressure, like he was feeling his way around each note, exploring, searching for the center of it and once found he would push a little harder, then back off only to push again until it exploded with his power. It was easy to love that approach but I knew he was capable of more.

Relishing his newly found freedom to innovate and experiment he quickly moved beyond the comfortable and into new sensations. He would start the phrase even more delicately, barely touching the note and then holding it forever until I begged for him to sing the next. Sometimes he moved around a note, gently rifting up and then slowly sliding down to notes so low they rumbled in my chest on each word in the phrase, barely a whisper but with total control, creating a rythmn and tone that touched my soul. He learned to use his tongue to hold the note, keep it reigned in, and then let it go to hit the air and send shivers down my spine. He tried jazzy fun staccato that was quick easy fun and some hard rock and roll with growls born in his belly. His technique and versatility and confidence expanded with each repetition. He practiced nuance and subtlety, holding back his power, but teasing you with his approach, touching the note lightly but firmly and finally finishing with a flurry of quick beats.

I began watching him in awe and anticipation as he closed those gorgeous green eyes to prepare for another variation. His stamina has mythic proportions. He could hold a note long enough to penetrate even the coldest heart I think. I imagined him feeling his way, reaching for some new way to express that same phrase one more time. A way to use not just the notes but his whole body to express the depth of his emotion. Notes that throbbed in his throat pushed by a breath coming from deep within, fueled by previously trapped passions and propelled by a power he now proudly displayed.