This is the title of one of my favorite songs by Leonard Bernstein.  The words continue: "....but I love to sing."   The singer, apparently a young child (probably enduring forced piano lessons), defines music as a thing that requires proper attire, sitting still, a lot of stodge, in other words.  ("Stodge is not actually a word.")
Music has come to be a thing, an object, a commodity.  It no longer has anything to do with the act of listening to ephemeral sound, still less to do with the voice you carry around with you every day and which could burst into song whenever you felt like it.
Do you ever feel like it?   Do you ever spontaneously sing?   In public?


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