Ella Fitzgerald
I know what you’re thinking: as a die-hard Freddie fan, how could anyone possibly rank above him? But let’s be honest for a moment: Ella Fitzgerald is the Queen. Period Everything about her is a masterclass in grace and genius. The absolute perfection of her pitch, as if her voice were an instrument tuned by the gods; that signature subtle vibrato, delicate and instantly recognizable; the emotion she pours into every phrase, turning standards into timeless moments. And above all, the way she plays.
Because Ella doesn’t just sing music—she converses with it. Listen to The Cricket Song at Jazz à Juan, when the cicadas of Juan-les-Pins crash her performance, and she—without missing a beat—improvises a duet with them, as if fate had handed her an unexpected partner. Listen to Mack the Knife in Berlin, when the lyrics slip her mind and she, with a wink, reinvents the song on the spot, even throwing in a Louis Armstrong impression to the delight of a laughing, enchanted crowd. When Ella sings, you don’t just hear her voice—you hear her smile. And that’s the gift she leaves us all: pure, infectious joy.
So no, I don’t know what to think either. Maybe just this: Freddie was a dazzling king, but Ella? Ella was music itself—free, playful, and eternally luminous. Iconic track: Mack the knife
Freddie Mercury
After the queen, the undisputed King! Freddie Mercury isn’t just the king of singers and performers—he is a force of nature, a phenomenon that transcends eras and genres. Everything about him is larger than life and sheer genius: a voice of supernatural power and range, capable of shifting from an enchanting whisper to a shattering scream in a heartbeat; a unique songwriting style that blends poetic lyricism with unforgettable pop-rock-operatic melodies; and a stage presence where his dandy elegance meets the boldness of a rebel. Freddie was the complete artist, turning every concert into a rock mass and every note into pure emotion.
But beyond his talents, it’s his charisma that mesmerizes me: that mischievous smile, the gaze both tender and provocative, the ability to captivate entire stadiums as if he were singing to just one person. He broke the rules, defied conventions, and left an indelible mark on music. Freddie Mercury is the eternal paradox—fragile yet invincible, extravagant yet deeply human—who continues to inspire generations of dreamers and musicians like me. A king, yes, but above all, a magician who made the impossible feel real. Iconic track: Bohemian Rhapsody (of course!!)
Tatiana Shmayluk
Tatiana Shmayluk (Jinjer) is the queen of raw, unapologetic power—she redefines what it means to command a stage.
With a voice that oscillates between sweet serenity and guttural fury, she doesn’t just sing; she summons emotions, weaving haunting melodies into crushing metal riffs so effortlessly!
What makes her legendary isn’t just her technical mastery—it’s her fearlessness. She breaks barriers, defies genres, and stands as a beacon for authenticity in a world that often demands conformity. Whether she’s delivering a soul-stirring clean chorus or unleashing a primal scream, Tatiana’s voice is a revolution in itself, a reminder that music isn’t just sound—it’s power, passion, and purpose. Iconic track: The Green Serpent
Chris Cornell
There are singers, and then there is Chris Cornell. He had the kind of voice that sounded like it had been forged in the fires of both heaven and hell, a perfect storm of power and vulnerability. Whether he was howling with the primal fury of Soundgarden, or singing powerful songs with Audioslave, or stripping a song down to its bare, aching soul in his solo work, Cornell didn’t just sing—he channeled. Every note carried the weight of a thousand unsaid things, every lyric felt like a confession torn straight from the ribs.
What made him legendary wasn’t just his range or his control—it was the truth in his voice. There was no artifice, no hiding. When Chris sang, you heard the cracks, the scars, the beauty of a man who had stared into the abyss and still chose to sing about love, loss, and redemption. His music was a sanctuary for the broken, a reminder that even in the darkest corners, there is something worth fighting for. Chris Cornell didn’t just leave behind songs; he left behind a piece of his soul—and for that, we are forever in his debt. Iconic track: Moth (Audioslave), with its very moving lyrics
Skin
If Freddie Mercury was the king of theatrical flamboyance and operatic grandeur, then Skin is his fierce, modern-day queen: a storm of raw energy, defiance, and unbridled charisma. Like Freddie, she has on the stage a presence that’s larger than life, blending powerhouse vocals with a magnetic, almost dangerous allure. But where Freddie dazzled with showmanship and operatic flourishes, Skin electrifies with a rawer, grittier edge—her voice a snarling, soulful force that can shift from a whisper to a roar in a heartbeat. Both are masters of reinvention, unafraid to push boundaries, whether through genre-bending music or their unapologetic personas. Freddie was the dandy with a wink; Skin is the warrior with a smirk, a woman who turns vulnerability into strength and rage into anthemic hymns. She is the queen of defiance—proving that rock’s royal bloodline isn’t just alive, but fiercer than ever. Iconic track: Charlie Big Potatoe
David Bowie
Oh, how I deeply wanted to be David Bowie! Not just for the music—though, of course, that was revolutionary—but for the essence of the man. That effortless elegance, the dandy-meets-alien style that made him seem like he’d stepped out of another dimension. The ever-ready smile, equal parts mischievous and mysterious, as if he knew a cosmic joke the rest of us were still trying to decipher. And above all, the fun of him—Bowie didn’t just perform; he played, with identity, with art, with the very idea of what a rock star could be. He was Ziggy Stardust one day, the Thin White Duke the next, always shifting, always surprising, always himself in a way no one else dared to be.
To want to be Bowie wasn’t about imitation—it was about aspiration. He taught me (in a dream!) that reinvention wasn’t just possible; it was necessary. That you could be strange and beautiful, intellectual and wild, all at once. He turned otherness into power, and made the rest of us believe—even if just for a moment—that we, too, could be that fearless, that magical. So yes, I wanted to be Bowie. Who didn’t? But more than that, I wanted to live like him: boldly, curiously, and always with a wink to the universe. Iconic track: Little Wonder
Ariana Grande
Let’s be honest—Ariana Grande’s music might not be my cup of tea, but her voice? That’s an entirely different story. She doesn’t just sing; she engineers sound, bending notes with both precision and emotion that feel almost supernatural. She’s a vocal athlete, yes, but also a stylist, shaping phrases with a playfulness - like Ella! - that betrays her deep jazz roots (yes, those YouTube clips of her scatting as a teenager are terrifyingly good).
What’s most striking isn’t just her range, but her intentionality. Every run, every melisma, every harmonic choice feels deliberate, like she’s solving an equation in real time. She’s the kind of singer who makes you forget genres—because when that voice cuts through, all you hear is mastery. Love her music or not, Ariana Grande’s voice is a force of nature, a reminder that technical brilliance can be just as thrilling as raw emotion. Iconic track: any of her appearences at the Jimmy Fallon show, mind-blowing! See also the show with Jimmy Kimmel when she improvises a song just by reading words on cardboards.
Bono
Bono and I—well, it’s a long story. One that starts with Where The Streets Have No Name shimmering through the loudspeakers of my parents living room, so wide and so alive that I dropped violin lesson and started studying guitar. There was something in that voice—husky, urgent, sexy—that didn’t just sing to you; it claimed you. It was the kind of voice that made you believe one song could topple walls, ignite revolutions, or at the very least, make you feel like you could conquer the world just by humming along.
Bono is kind of a preacher, but with the swagger of a rock star and the heart of a poet. He turns any anthem into a prayer and stadiums into churches, all while making you feel like the song was written just for you. And that’s the thing about Bono: he’s not just a singer. He’s a force—a man who wields his voice like a weapon and his lyrics like a manifesto. He made me want to matter, to believe that music could be bigger than notes and chords, that it could be a call to arms or a whispered secret between strangers.
So yes, Bono and I… it’s complicated. It’s devotion, frustration, and a little bit of awe. Because how do you not fall for a voice that sounds like it’s already seen the future—and still wants to fight for it? Iconic track: All I want is you
Dave Gahan
There’s something almost sacred about Dave Gahan’s smoky, hypnotic baritone voicewhich grabs you right from the first notes. He’s a kind of a dark priest, chanting lyrics like incantations over Depeche Mode’s songs, turning pain into something beautiful and electric.
But more than that, he was my teacher—the man who made me realize that a voice didn’t need to soar into the stratosphere to move souls. His rich, brooding timbre proved that depth could be just as powerful as height, that a growl could carry as much emotion as a falsetto. In a world obsessed with high notes and vocal acrobatics, Gahan taught me that a baritone wasn’t a limitation—it was a weapon, a tool for seduction, for melancholy, for raw, unfiltered truth. He didn’t just restore my confidence in my voice; he made me fall in love with its shadows! Iconic track: In your room