I know what you’re thinking. So let’s just get it out of the way: Like buttah. Like satin. Like whatever that perfume is that Elizabeth Taylor hawked. Oh, right: White Diamonds. Barbra Streisand sounded like diamonds. And porcelain and a freshly drawn bath and consommé.
The voice is 74. So maybe the carats are fewer, but so what? It remains The Voice. Thursday night at Barclays Center in Brooklyn, it never asked to be received in pity, graded on a curve or helped across the street. There was some nervousness beforehand that it would be somehow … off.
But no: On, on, on. For example, its owner continues to make the finale of “Don’t Rain on My Parade” sound like a space shuttle leaving Earth, the gravitational force enough to yank what looked like a sold-out crowd to its feet. — The New York Times