I'd love to hear the good reverend record an album of nothing but covers of the likes of One Direction, Justin Bieber, the Backstreet Boys, and other popsters of today and yesteryear. Sure, it'd be a gimmick, but I can't help feeling he'd still hit homer after homer, and there'd be a certain thrill in just the spectacle of him taking light, fluffy pop—which, I hasten to add, I adore—and turn it into gem after gem.
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