JON CARROLL - 2004-02-10
I don't know why the leaders of the Inquisition had to resort to the rack, the Iron Maiden or the burning
hot poker in the uncomfortable location. If they'd really wanted to seek out heresies and elicit craven confessions, all they'd have to do is set up a
small singing recital.
After three minutes of this exquisite torture, the enemies of the church would have been babbling of Satan, admitting to foul practices, betraying their friends and family. "Go back to the pokers," they would have cried pitifully. "Just don't make me sing in public."
I speak as one with firsthand experience. Last weekend, in a rambling house in Piedmont, against my better judgment, I stood at a piano before an audience of assorted lovers of the Voice and favored them with my rendition of "Where'er You Walk" by Handel.
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