Lenny Kravitz arrives insignificantly late to our Zoom, apologises and explains he’s trying to use his computer, as opposed to the phone from which he more usually zooms, because, “I was just on an hour-long bike ride in a rainstorm and my phone’s a little wet.” He pauses to brush traces of rainwater from his brow, more from his chest (he hasn’t buttoned his shirt), and he smiles.
I don’t think it’s calculated. I don’t think Kravitz is performing the rain-mopping, offering the insight into a private existence that incorporates thrilling manly quasi-spiritual ultra-romantic communing-with-your-environment type ventures such as riding motorbikes through Bahamian rainstorms (he’s calling from an Airstream trailer on the island of Eleuthera, which is where he lives when he’s not in his