Delicate Steve, Delicate Steve Sings Review

by Seamus Fitzpatrick

Steve Marion, the enigmatic figure behind Delicate Steve, has always danced on the edges of conventional expectations for a guitarist. With his latest offering, Delicate Steve Sings, Marion invites us into a space where the voice of his guitar takes on the role of a storyteller. Here, the goal isn’t for the instrument to merely play notes, but to sing—not in a traditional sense, but as a medium for Marion’s musings, conveying the lushness of the human voice and the emotive power of the guitar.

Born out of a cosmic epiphany, this album was conceived as Marion gazed out over the Aegean Sea, Willie Nelson’s Stardust spinning in the background. In many ways, that moment defines the heart of this album—a collection of well-known melodies that linger with the iconic voices of our musical past. Delicate Steve Sings is a meditation on Marion daring to imprint his distinct sonic signature onto them.

From the outset, with “Cherry,” Marion signals his intent. The track strives to capture the smooth, sultry tones of Motown. The vibe is a little strange, a peculiar cross of styles combining to land on the cinematic side rather than a variation on a Motown groove. Marion’s guitar speaks the melody clearly, but not with the longing of a voice that has absorbed decades of history and heartache. But even as it reaches for emotional resonance, the track falls just shy of genuinely embracing its own potential, leaving listeners suspended in a realm that is more shadow than substance.

As the album progresses, Marion’s ambition becomes clearer. His take on Donnie and Joe Emerson’s “Baby” is Marion going for the soft intimacy of a lover’s words expressed through the guitar and acting as a vessel for emotion. And yet, for all its beauty, there lingers a sense of reticence—a hesitance to fully inhabit the songs he so lovingly reinterprets.

This hesitance is perhaps most evident in Marion’s rendition of The Beatles’ “Yesterday.” While his touch on the guitar is unmistakable, the track echoes with the hollow familiarity of hotel lobby Muzak. It is in moments like these that Delicate Steve Sings seems to falter, straddling the line between homage and pastiche without fully committing to either. With its mix of originals and covers, the album feels like an experiment in duality, caught between the desire to honor the past and the need to forge something entirely new.

Marion’s original compositions, such as “I’ll Be There,” are brief respites from the album’s otherwise sepia-toned palette. Here, he breaks free from the constraints of his self-imposed reverence, allowing his guitar to sing in his voice, which pulses with life, a reminder of the brilliance that Marion is capable of when he sheds the weight of expectation and simply lets the music flow.

But even these moments of brilliance are fleeting, as the album soon returns to its subdued, introspective mood. Delicate Steve Sings is an album that yearns to be something more than it is—a collection of songs that, while beautifully rendered, often feel more like echoes of the past than fully realized expressions of the present. Marion’s guitar may sing, but it does so in a whisper, one that gets lost in the cacophony of its own nostalgia.

Ultimately, Delicate Steve Sings is a paradox that defines much of Marion’s career. As with all great art, the album is open to interpretation, a mirror through which we can glimpse both the artist and ourselves. That’s the short of it!

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