SONG OF THE MOMENT: Marshall, Donovan, Broomfield -- "That's Love"

Just can't stop playing this track. It happens sometimes. When it does, it's so instantaneous that I'd wager it has to be chemical. A certain shift from one note to another, a chord modulation, a rhythmic tilt or break, whatever it is, triggers a hormonal/endorphal release and everything else is irrelevant.

Here, it starts with a jazzy, sorta-bossa groove, with restrained electric guitar of the kind that Michael Franks might use. Cool, nice, but not yet remarkable. The voice comes in and here's where things start to interesting. It's a flawed voice, idiosyncratic, perhaps that of a songwriter or arranger, rather than that of a "pure" vocalist. It's tough to pin down sexually. While it becomes clear that it's a male voice (I think), there's not a note of Marvin Gaye or Al Green in sight. It's not even the extreme falsetto of Curtis Mayfield. Stevie Wonder's high tenor starts getting closer, but the closest comparison might actually be a slightly clearer Eartha Kitt. But it's not as if the voice is so great that makes the song indelible. It's just that it's off-center enough to signal that there might be something unusual about this track. Just enough to keep you listening.

The verses progress in their jazzy soul way, electric piano providing the flavor behind the vocalist. A little hint of horns. As the chorus approaches, the horns rise a bit, strings start swelling, a climax is meticulously being built. And this is key. The extra time spent on the transition from verse to chorus is the time spent setting up the swoon into rapture. As the strings build, it's not with clouds of cotton candy, but with the precipice-standing, four-note cadence of the Twilight Zone. They're inside the mix, so as not to dominate the consciousness of the listner, but the tension they build is palpable, at least semi-consciously. When the chorus drops, it's not as an explosion or exultation as much as the glide following the step over the edge. The chills on my neck swirl as the voice does its bittersweet, slowly, inevitably descending "That's luuuuuuuuuve...." with a sweepingly co-gliding horn on one side and strings on the other. That's around where the explanation stops and the reasons cease to matter.

MARSHALL, DONOVAN, BROOMFIELD -- That's Love