15) David Byrne
Some things get sexier with age (wine, women). Some don't (Bono, sigh). Former Talking Heads frontman David Byrne is firmly in the former camp. Yes, the world adored him during his Talking Heads phase, despite the fact that he dressed as a shrunken head in an oversized suit. But, not one to rest on his laurels, Byrne has won Grammys, Oscars and our hearts for his work in film, photography, opera — he even converted an entire building into a musical instrument. To see him today is to see a towering, silver-haired, silver-tongued god, often garbed in white, his dark eyes hungry and his arms thrown wide as he steals whatever show he's in. He knows how to light his own internal fire, and you get the feeling he'd easily light yours, as well. — N.A.
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14) Bob Dylan
Could anyone else make evangelicalism sexy? The Jewish Dylan's brief foray into born-again Christianity (he's now back where he started) produced three gospel albums from which he performs to this day, but it was his famous conversion from acoustic folk to electric rock at the 1965 Newport Folk Festival that secured his iconic place in the pop firmament. Almost universally recognized as the finest songwriter of the last half-century, Dylan is the only popular musician to win a Pulitzer Prize. And if some recent missteps (shilling for Victoria's Secret; borderline incoherent live performances) throw his sexiness into doubt, try to think of another artist who could inspire biographical performances from Heath Ledger, Christian Bale, Richard Gere and Cate Blanchett in the same movie. — B.G. |
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13) Tom Waits
We nowadays regard Thomas Alain Waits as the ne plus ultra elder statesman of weird Americana, but rewind thirty years and you'd be privy to an even weirder sight: a troubadour with the rugged good looks of Saint Gabriel and the larynx of Mephistopheles. Waits' body has caught up with his voice over time, but the man still exerts an undeniable, black-lunged magnetism. There's an easy explanation for this — you had the hots for your college professor, and Waits is the oral historian of every lost weekend. — C.L. |
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12) Kurt Cobain
The Father of Grunge, along with his Nirvana cohorts, rescued rock from hair metal's bloated cheese and bulging spandex. Cobain proved that smart, angry, and unrelentingly gloomy music can be foot-stompingly catchy. With a goosebump-inducing guttural wail that belied his cherubic looks (piercing baby blues, perpetually mussed, blond locks), Kurt and his countless Seattle-based imitators (not to mention wrecking-ball-and-chain, Courtney Love), defined the sound of a decade. Cobain shot himself fifteen years ago this month, as much a victim of his own success (see: "Corporate Magazines Still Suck" t-shirt worn on the cover of Rolling Stone) as chronic stomach pain and the heroin addiction that fleetingly relieved it. Rock music hasn't found as jolting an innovator since. And plaid flannel will never be the same. — B.G. |
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11) Jeff Buckley
Back in the '90s, you didn't need to get your date drunk to get laid. All you needed was a loud stereo and copy of Jeff Buckley's Grace. The challenge after that wasn't getting naked, it was getting hot for your date and not Buckley himself. The man's look was a weird mix of James Dean and MTV VJ, but his voice made it work. "Mojo Pin" may be played out a decade later, stripped of its Spanish-fly potency by overexposure, but on the right night, in the right town, Buckley's music is still irresistible. — J.C.
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