The boom of the cannon reverberates over the thick humidity of the early morning. This sounds echoes through the trees, sends birds to flight, and startles children, startles women, starles me. This sound is held in reverence for moments – only to ushered out by equally powerful explosions into the African sky. The “twenty-one cannon salute”. It ushered in the morning and it soberly ushered out my grandfather and the village as they transported his body to its final resting place adjacent to the family house.
If Lucier identifies himself as a musician, then “I Am Sitting In A Room” must be digested by the audience as a concert piece with his voice, the recording equipment, and the room itself as the instruments that create “music” to evoke a certain feeling in his audience. As we give ear to the “disappearance” of Lucier’s monotone repetition, we are able to hear the evolution of Lucier’s speech irregularity into a dissonant series of esoteric tones. (atleast to the human ear) Even though it is an experiment, the figurative application of this event to Lucier’s personal opinion of his speech impediment interests me. I wonder if the disappearance of his impediment is what we ethically desire – or even what he desires. The awful, discordant noises that I heard in the comfort of my dorm, may have been euphonious to him because it removed his stutter.
