Susan Boyle placed her hands on her abdomen as she sang the last note of the song “Wild Horses" Wednesday on the finale of “America's Got Talent," taking the familiar stance of a trained singer, carefully locating her breath. The pose concluded a performance that was exactly what Boyle's mentor, Simon Cowell, could have hoped for -- lovely, inspirational, free of surprises.
Devotees of the original Rolling Stones version of this often-covered weeper might object to Boyle's stolid rhythmic sense, her utter lack of irony (irony is, after all, the essence of Mick Jagger), and her artistic choices, which transform “Wild Horses" from a complicated account of emotional confusion to a simple exclamation of longing. But mainstream America, at least as it's portrayed on prime-time television, adores Boyle's sunny vocal tone and her ability to turn even a song about a drug overdose into something worthy of church.
No matter that her performance was canned (it was taped the night before the telecast, though made to look live), or that her nerves clearly planted her to one spot, vocally and physically. Boyle has something Americans have sought in popular music for more than a century, even as they also seek its opposite: the mask of sincerity.
Ever since she appeared on “Britain's Got Talent," the U.K. version of this global talent-show franchise, Boyle has become one of the world's most celebrated regular people. Her performance of “I Dreamed a Dream" from “Les Miserables" surprised reality-show viewers used to seeing performers' voices match up with their visages.
Working class, average looking and too old even to join the cast of “Desperate Housewives," Boyle inspired many by pursuing her dream of becoming a professional in a field, entertainment, that mostly rewards the young and the beautiful.
She's not the first star to defy beauty standards: there was Ethel Merman, Janis Joplin, heck, even “American Idol" had the chubby Christian rocker Chris Sligh. Perhaps because her voice is so pure while her chin is so wobbly, Boyle seems truly exceptional.
To argue against her rise is, to evoke Dr. Seuss, totally Grinch-like.
But let's not fool ourselves about Boyle's voice. It's as pretty as a winner on “America's Next Top Model," and it's standard fare for American pop lovers.
The affect of sincerity, taken on by spaghetti tenors, crooners and balladeers since the days of Enrico Caruso, has nothing to do with genuine feeling, though Boyle certainly does seem to have access to plenty of that.
It's a theatrical approach with roots in bel canto singing and Broadway: the ingenue's wide-eyed way with a love song, devoid of the tics, blue phrasing and feel for conversation that we love in other kinds of singers, including Louis Armstrong, Billie Holiday and Jagger.
