I think the lesson here is that if impeccably glamorous people can’t have positive romantic outcomes, what hope is there for people who don’t lounge around in evening wear? Or, relatedly, only the impeccably glamorous get to experience the full gamut of romantic emotions in the first place, while the rest of us just have to settle for settling. You all know how I feel about romance – it’s a social construct that does more harm than good, on my bad days, and a sport on the good ones – but I did learn my lessons from Bryan Ferry. It’s that everything is better with fashion, and that includes being sad. Ladies, find you someone who looks at you the way Bryan Ferry looks at a good tuxedo.
Come for Bryan Ferry’s gleaming hair, stay for the Marcel Duchamp references. With Ferry, you really get the best of both worlds. High fashion sophistication, obviously, Ferry being the world famous dandy and bon vivant that he is. But moody posing would just be moody posing without intellectual ambition, and Ferry, having been both an art student and a teacher, knows his reference points. He draws his poses from old Hollywood and beyond that, from the greats of literature and art. Which makes him the ideal package, a man who dresses better than you do and has also read more books. In short, he’s probably an insufferable prig, but you want him anyway.
Bryan Ferry does interesting things with cover tunes. It’s kind of one of his main things. Take something completely unexpected and obscure and make it over in campy lounge lizard drag. I don’t think anybody has made unusual covers such a strong career sideline. Who else would take a Jimmy Reed song and turn it into high glam? It takes away everything from the blues that makes it the blues and comes up with… a Bryan Ferry song. And it works, like glitter magic.
Do I need an excuse to listen to Bryan Ferry all day? No, I do not. I don’t even have anything to add to that. I am going to do that and I am also going to spend a long time on Tumblr looking at picture of Bryan Ferry. Yep, nothing left to say except, gentlemen, step up your hair game, please.
Bryan Ferry really knows where his bread is buttered, so to speak. He perfected his formula in the early 80’s and doesn’t stray from it very often. I for one, can’t complain. No one else does anything like what Ferry does, so as long as he can go on doing it, all’s the better. Sophisticated and versatile mood music is a necessity, and I always turn to Ferry for all of my mood-setting needs. My mood rut lately has been “drinking champagne alone,” for which Bryan Ferry’s brand of romantic moodiness is ideal, but it’s also ideal for hot dates or parties. There’s really no better way to signal that you have eccentric good taste than by putting on a mid-80’s Bryan Ferry album.
Bryan Ferry evokes a touch of Old Hollywood with a tribute to the home of William Randolph Hearst. It sounds both sexy and slightly haunted. With the ghosts of movie stars past, of course, and the energy of the god-knows-what that went on at Hearst Castle before it became a museum. Extravagant luxury makes a great cover for filthy proclivities, and lest we forget, that’s been what makes Hollywood what it is since the days when people like William Hearst helped invent the concept of Hollywood. That’s a great fit for Ferry, who took a lot of inspiration from Hollywood sophisticates and their louche ways. In glamour lies danger.
Bryan Ferry is hardly a blues singer in any conventional sense. He is, by most standards, barely inhabiting the same universe. But Ferry pushes the emotion buttons for a very specific audience: continental white people too effete and art-damaged to admit that they still have emotional functions at all aka me. I can’t really relate to real blues music – it’s too real! But I can relate to a man who wears a tie with a leather suit jacket. Nobody is pretending this is actually a blues song. It’s a ‘mope and smoke on the balcony gazing out to sea’ song, which is a very particular feeling to evoke.