Author(s): Nick Coleman

Film

I am pretty certain that we are only haunted by singing when we experience it not as an act of showing off but as an act of authorship, and then as a personal invasion; an invasion conducted privately, discreetly, loudly or quietly, at home or abroad, upright or lying down, tearfully or dry-it doesn't really matter where you experience it, or how, so long as the context is felt to be your own and that you listen to the singing not as a constituent of a mass consciousness but as the sole occupant of a single one. Psychologically alone. For what is singing, if not the creative assertion of individuality? And what is a voice, if not the most inimitable, indelible mark of an individual's individuality-the vessel, the ship sent out bravely over the horizon to export the fruits of our consciousness to places unknown. I am not entirely comfortable with admitting this, but I am quite sure that a disproportionate amount of my own socialization was accomplished through the agency of other people's singing. I have never told my mother this. Book jacket.