From a whisper to a bellow and everything in between, travelling with Bill Shorten is a tonal smorgasbord.
As he fires up the faithful, the Labor leader's union roots come to the fore with red seas of volunteers given picket-line fire.
He rallied troops in the marginal Adelaide seat of Boothby, hardly missing a step when a lone heckler questioned how he'd pay for action on climate change.
"I tell you what brother, we will stop giving tax subsidies to the top end of town."
But election campaigns are a dynamic beast.
In the same day Shorten gave true believers just a little more faith, he sat down with Jill Barnard.
She's got stage four cancer. Her oncologist was in tears as she broke the news to her three days before Christmas.
Shorten is calm and quiet while listening to her story.
Amid the emotion, the glare of snapping camera shutters and boom microphones make the spectre of the campaign unavoidable.
Underpinning the meeting is Labor's centrepiece health policy to ease the financial burden of cancer.
"We just want to buy a little more time for us," Jill says as she looks at her husband Nev before turning back to Shorten.
They agree the disease won't delay.
"Cancer doesn't wait, it grows," Jill, a Tasmanian teacher, says.
As the 10-minute meeting wraps up, Shorten, his wife Chloe and Jill embrace.
There's a bold contrast in the emotional range of the day.
It's a reminder the Labor leader's spent six years tweaking his timbres in opposition.
Only time will tell if a victory will let prime minister Shorten find another voice.
