Man or (woman or) machine

Didja see the article in the Times, about a week ago, about the pop singer named Rhye? About that sultry contralto croon, which reminded many of Sade? About Rhye's place on a list of young chanteuses who are transforming pop music? About the fact that, um, Rhye is actually a male vocalist?

Well, that last revelation may have taken many observers by surprise - but not, we want to say, those of us at Halfstep. Of course, that's largely due to the fact that we'd never even heard of Rhye before reading the article. But, in retrospect, it's also fair to say that we're currently pretty comfortable with a bit of gender-bending here and there. Having a 3-year-old will do that to you. In  fact, it was just on Friday that we were chatting with the parents of a boy in Cleo's class; they told us that they'd recently been at a dress-up party where a helpful staff member had pointed asked their boy if he wanted, perhaps, a Spiderman shirt, or one with the characters from Cars. 'Do you have Snow White?' he responded. And, by the same logic, Cleo opts, occasionally, to play the prince in our homespun fairy tales. Or, more frequently, she eschews gender role altogether: recently, one of her favorite exercises has involved walking slightly stiffly around the room, intoning 'I am a robot' in a surprisingly convincing mechanical timbre.

Having a robot in the house reminds us, in turn, that many pop singers now rely on auto tune, which perfects their pitch while also lending a certain mechanical, automated quality to the sung lyrics. We know, of course, that there are purists who decry such a crutch. But don't count us among them. After all, if men can sing like women, why shouldn't women sing like robots?