‘All my favorite singers couldn’t sing,’ David Berman of the Silver Jews proclaims to us in his song “We Are Real” from his landmark album American Water. In many ways I agree with him. Whether it’s the mumbling of Bob Dylan, the ‘I must sing flat on at least one song per album’ of Morrissey, or the rhythmic talking of Destroyer, many of my favorite singers can’t really sing.

I have struggled with this for quite a while. Why is it that I am drawn to the squawky, the flat and the cracking? Why is it that I feel like punching something whenever I hear someone say ‘I like Leonard Cohen’s songs, just not when he’s singing them’? Am I merely being caught up in some non-comforming-comformists movement in which I think I’m being all counter-cultural by proclaiming my love for these artists, when in actual fact I’m only doing it because it is currently cool to like poor singers? Or is there more to it than that? In spite of the current trend to have a lead singer who has an unconventional voice (think Wolf Parade or Clap Your Hands Say Yeah!), I still believe there is more to this attraction than that. But what exactly could it be?

Often, the singer’s voice serves to prop up the significance and meaning of the lyrics of the song. Take Jon Rae and the River’s rendition of Joy Division’s song “Disorder” as an example: “Disorder” is a song that, if you look closer, is very irritating and unsettling. Through lyrics such as ‘it’s getting faster, moving faster now. It’s getting out of hand,’ the song comes across as speaking of a fragile moment that is beyond any sense of control. You can never listen to “Disorder” and relax. It just won’t let you get there.

Just as Ian Curtis did with his off-setting vocal inflections, Jon Rae Fletcher brings “Disorder” into a more country setting and sings it with a sense of vulnerability. He works his voice alongside the lyrics in a captivating fashion in which way he never allows his voice to fully settle into place just as the lyrics do. It is at all times in danger of falling apart. As a result, he offers up a stunning rendition of a much beloved song that gives it new life through the weakness of his voice.

I find weak singing fascinating because it adds an element of struggle that is often missing in more slick, nicely produced music. Carey Mercer from Victoria, British Columbia’s Frog Eyes is a key example of an artist who is compelling so long as he continues to confound. It is primarily in a live setting where you really get a sense of the struggle inherent in the work of Frog Eyes. You fall into a state of shock and awe as you sit and watch this quiet and unassuming gentlemen walk on stage only to explode into a state of hysterical singing, backed by an equally offsetting band. You think to yourself ‘my God, what have you done!’ Mercer sings as though the true meaning beneath the surface of Frog Eyes’ material is constantly trying to break open through Mercer, but is being forced back down at all times.

This is apparent in their recordings as well, as is evident in the song “Time Destroys its Plan at the Reactionary Table.” What is Mercer trying to say when he sings ‘I find it unacceptable that they make concessions to the world to the running of the world to the churning of the world … GET BENEATH ME, BIRD’? Frog Eyes will always leave you with more questions than answers when you listen to their music.

None of this is to give some intrinsic value to flawed singers. I don’t like Bob Dylan, Jon Rae Fletcher, or Carey Mercer purely because they are ‘imperfect’ singers. Nor am I saying that any singer that is well trained isn’t worth listening to. I adore the harmonies of the Beach Boys and the crooning of Harry Nilsson. What I’m saying is that there is something intriguing in midst of the imperfections of these singers that is often missing in more conventional voices. It’s through the cracks and squawks of the singer where we, time and time again, receive a glimpse, however fleeting, of the true brilliance at work in the song.

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