An image, for the past two decades lodged in my mind: during a televised mass-spectacle fundraiser rock concert, after a sequence of loud mega-groups of musicians performed (or lip-synched) songs that other people wrote for them, aided by hordes of assistants, gaffers, sound engineers, and hangers-on — after their pyrotechnics burned out and all their equipment was finally slid offstage — after the crowd of 100,000 or so at Wembley Stadium quieted down and the TV announcers ended their voice-overs — out comes Tracy Chapman, by herself, in an old white t-shirt with her guitar hanging on its strap, there to sing a few songs that she herself composed.

One person, alone on stage...

TopicPersonalHistory - TopicArt - 2003-03-24

(correlates: OldMasters, SelfStorage, White Teeth, ...)