The audible crackle that clothes “Guilty”, and its restless fizzling layering of grime, is to music what the wash of black and white is to photography. It’s a quality fraught with permission to undermine any need for introduction of scene, instead offering in its place a time and location and specificity all through presence alone.
Bowlly’s voice is entirely triumphant, playing out stretched notes which build upon and caress vocal landscapes; those hovering above sprite piano fits, churning wisdom with every uttered word, and soaring with claims to the grandeur of his monumental love. “If it’s a crime then I’m guilty, guilty of loving you.” If persuasion was not intended, then it being a resulting emotion is surely proof of a core legitimacy. [Sweetest.]