Every now and then I become mesmerized by a certain musician. Luckily, the force of each palls after a while, or I would be sliding inexorably into obsession territory, like the woman in Richard Thompson’s “From Galway to Graceland,” whose life was upended by her devotion to Elvis:

Now, I never was especially into Elvis. Don’t get me wrong; I certainly didn’t hate him, and I rather liked some of his music—accent on the “rather.” I understood that he was a huge phenom, but I just had no particular interest at all.

But Richard Thompson, yes! Leonard Cohen, ditto! And now Mark Knopfler, sigh!

What do these guys have in common?

Well, to start with, they’re guys. Although I like some female vocalists (Nina Simone, for example; although come to think of it she sometimes sounds a tiny bit like a guy), I seem to prefer male singers. I’m not sure why (except for the obvious), but it’s something that hasn’t escaped my notice.

Next, two of them are Brits (Thompson, Knopfler) and one Canadian (Cohen). Hmmm. And the Brits both have some Scots ancestry or influence. Double hmmm; perhaps that means something? Two went bald early (Thompson and Knopfler again). Two are great guitarists (same two).

None are what you’d call handsome, but they look great to me. All are now over 60 (ah, but I’m no spring chicken myself).

And none of them have beautiful voices. But they have distinctive voices, which is even better to me, voices that immediately got my full attention the first time I ever heard them. Voices that resemble each other a bit in that they have a certain gruffness and lack of polish, but which they use as well (or nearly as well) as they use the instruments they play (or in the case of Cohen, that others play) to accompany them—bending and shading and wobbling in just the right places, sometimes whispering for effect or when overcome with emotion.

Because I’ve decided that all three have another thing in common: the ability to convey feelings through amazing lyrics, and through a voice and demeanor that seems quiet and restrained but is really a repository for barely-leashed emotions of great depth and intensity. All three are poets—Cohen a “real” poet before he ever became a singer/songwriter, and the other two are poets masquerading as lyricists.

Note I wrote “singer/songwriter” for Cohen. I could say the same for Thompson and Knopfler, because they write virtually all their own material, and of course in the case of Thompson and Knopfler they play it, too. I cannot even imagine how hard it is to do all three at such a high level, but they manage it quite nicely. And that’s a huge part of the appeal, as well.

But in the final analysis the appeal is mysterious and mesmerizing. With Knopfler, almost literally so; I’ve had to tear myself away from YouTube, lest I go the way of Thompson’s Elvis-obsessed lady in pink from Galway (“they dragged her away, it was handcuffs this time…”).

You probably haven’t heard the end of me and Knopfler. But for now I’ll content myself with offering this video of “Tunnel of Love” (lyrics here, in case you’re having trouble hearing them). It was recorded in 1983, when Knopfler was in his early 30s and still had some hair; you’ll have to ignore (or enjoy) the 80s ambiance and fashion. It’s long, because I can’t bear to cut a note of it. But if you want to go forward and see less, the heart of the song begins around minute 4:00, the mostly instrumental part begins about 7:25, and Mark really gets going around 9:45. Note, at the end, the smile of the exhausted drummer, and then Mark’s funny little finger-fluttering wave:

[NOTE: Interestingly enough, Thompson has written a song that reminds me somewhat of “Tunnel of Love,” called “Wall of Death.” It also uses an amusement park and its rides as a metaphor for…for…well, see for yourself:

Here’s an explanation of the Wall of Death, in case you’re not familiar with it.]

[ADDENDUM: Here we go:

Two out of three ain’t bad.]