Mario Biondi is the kind of svelte and charming crooner who will get your parents in a giddy mood after canapés and too much prossecco. That dinner party that goes awry when adults misbehave. He could charm the pants off auntie Christie and put the sparkle back in Nanna’s eye as she recalls star spotting Sinatra at the Ritz back in 1945.
The live atmosphere is ripe for love-making and the pheromones fill the air like ticklish pollen as he serenades the crowd with hits, This is What You Are, Shine On and No Mercy for Me.
The single light catches a glint in his molars as he throws his head back: “And nothing really means much more to me than YOUUUU”. He gives of the impression of a modern Bacchus, his subtle gesticulations seem to gently goad, invite straight-thinking urbane socialites to undo their buttons, ruffle their hair, step out to the middle of the room and dance inappropriately. Drunk on the infusion of sleek, sophisticated jazz, with luscious Philadelphia soul strings sections and refined funk breakaways.
The Stolen
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