I didn’t realize upon initially listening to Vincent Covello’s album Torchlights it was a testament to his late family. But now that I do, I have to admit the fact does not surprise me. There’s this raw, earnest, almost sense of release to each of the tracks – the kind of release indicative of someone both at the high of their respective, creative experience, and simultaneously devoid of any excess self-awareness or critique. That’s not say Torchlights isn’t a thoroughly accomplished piece of work, it is.
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But there’s this fiery unpredictability to it, a sort of delightfully unhinged quality to the way the songs just roll through the speakers that reminded me of the good old days. Specifically eras in popular music when autotune, excess technical perfection, and an overemphasis on computer generation and synthesizers.
An era when people actually gave a flying bleep about lyrics, storytelling, and being transportive in nature. It’s a relief to see someone still believes in this, although in part this is likely Covello being an industry insider himself. Having been in the music scene for decades, he’s likely seen both the light and dark sides of excess adherence to the status quo, which in and of itself in the fields of entertainment is always changing at the capricious drop of a hat.
At a certain point, any seasoned veteran of the entertainment echelons will tell you the greatest art is that which you make for yourself. Leading by example with Torchlights, Covello clearly has embraced this philosophy as a solo act. He’s not a perfectly polished singer, which in and of itself proves to be something of a throwback to aforementioned decades. There’s something slightly off despite the polish and technical finesse. It makes him human, and it breathes a sense of actual life into each of the tracks.
Much like fellow adult pop connoisseur Josh Groban, Covello is able to emote in this unapologetically big band, operatic kind of way. But never at the expense of the actual listening experience being compromised, God forbid feeling superfluous, small, or trite in terms of its actual convictions. Once again, this is likely due to a mixture of Covello’s considerable pedigree, and his own, intrinsic calibrations as an independent artist. With respect to the latter, he’s not entirely seasoned as a solo act. While Torchlights is a commendable and penetrating release, he still feels somewhat undefined as an artist. However the only way from here is up.
What left a lasting impression on me from Torchlights is how, like any great singer-songwriter, Covello is able to translate affecting prose into musical poetry. Specifically his ability to tell genuinely engaging stories in the form of each of the album tracks. Things that aren’t just defined by catchy hooks and stanzas filled to the brim with euphemisms. Pay close attention to what Covello is actually saying, and you’ll get a sense of the genuine craft here at play. Songwriting is an art, contrary to what popular music today would have you believe. It’s more than just flash, and pomp and circumstance. A great song is a great story, and Covello know show to tell.
Cleopatra Patel