thing is with bill though, you can't really say it's emotionless
it's hyper-emotional perhaps, a sort of positive hysteria, unleashed billowing clouds of feeling, taking on shape and style, showing out like stacked cumulus.
or 'feeling' as a born strangeness now clothed and heavy, dustily pungent and real, strutting and tottering like a beaked and bewigged figure out of max ernst.
theatrical sure, mannered yes, but certainly not artificial as preternaturally poised/abstracted/machinic.
the voice balloons, stretches and warps almost to delineate and make space for a new affective (dis)order.
i always think of it as a sort of breakthrough for the real and barely-suppressed roiling melodrama of the interior life, now producing and freely improvising its own dominion, and deployed against an arbitrarily imposed, well-tempered rule of 'objective' feeling, which no one can locate to any authority, but everyone just warily assumes is hegemonic.
in that sense it's beyond the idea of camp as a sort of 'failed seriousness' or mere revel in the play of artifice-as-surface.