SOUNDS LIKE TITANIC A Memoir By Jessica Chiccehitto Hindman
As the Summer of Scam yielded to fall and now winter, we might come to realize, two Fyre Festival documentaries later, that we live in an era (or, indeed, a nation) of scam: We love stories about people with big dreams and minimal credentials, whether they succeed or fail. The truest American heroes are the people to whom Jessica Chiccehitto Hindman dedicates her new memoir, “Sounds Like Titanic”: “those with average talents and above-average desires.”
“Sounds Like Titanic” follows Hindman when, as a desperately broke senior at Columbia, she seems to catch a huge break. Despite her only musical training being lessons she took as a child in West Virginia, she is hired to play violin in an ensemble led by a composer who has sold thousands of albums and played at Lincoln Center. She realizes why his staff has overlooked her lack of skill when, onstage with the rest of the ensemble, a deafening CD track begins to play. It is what she calls a “Milli Violini” situation: The audience is in fact listening to a recording.
The book jumps between Hindman’s first gigs with the Composer (the only name she gives him), her Appalachian childhood and her travels with the Composer on his “God Bless America Tour” in 2004, when he played a series of concert benefits for PBS stations around the country. Hindman dedicates several sections to the Composer, but all we really learn about him is that he is both shrewd and stupid. He struck gold in the classical contemporary market by blatantly ripping off the “Titanic” soundtrack and taking a direct sales approach, hocking CDs at “live” performances at shopping centers and art fairs. In the end, he may be a true innocent, just like the American mall-goers who buy his CDs. When Hindman plays Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony on their tour bus, he says to her: “I like this music. What is it?”
As scams go, the Composer’s is relatively benign — playing to a backing track isn’t illegal — and “Sounds Like Titanic” is not ultimately interested in skewering or exposing him. It is more a memoir of millennial economic ennui, a clever illustration of navigating impostor syndrome and the gig economy, since Hindman literally takes gigs as an impostor violinist. She was a Middle Eastern studies major at Columbia and was studying abroad in Cairo on 9/11. She longs to be a foreign correspondent at a newspaper, but she finds her expertise works against her: “It will be more difficult to make a living by providing accurate information about the Middle East to an American audience than it will be to make a living by fake-playing the violin.”
But “Sounds Like Titanic” at times casts Hindman too much as a millennial Everywoman. The weakest parts of the book are when she tries to wring meaning from absurdity, painting her generation or her country with wide strokes. The details she brings out from her gigs across America often fall back on unkind clichés, like her cabdriver with several missing teeth in Nashville who tells her a “you might be a redneck” joke. The broadness of the book’s voice is heightened by Hindman’s choice to write often in the second person. “By 15 your body is begging you for calories,” she writes. “You are losing weight instead, your work ethic turned inward, toward your own flesh.” This “you” generalizes the experience of an eating disorder until it’s trite, a perverse teenage milestone.
This is indicative of the problem with creative nonfiction when creative becomes too strong an imperative. The writer dresses up the events in her life with shifts in point of view, lyrical fragments, nonlinear storytelling, parodies, rhapsodies and a brocade of description. Hindman’s stylistic experimentation gives her book an alluring energy but hobbles her narrative. I longed to see how one event led to another in her life, and how the troubles of earlier scenes resonated in later ones. Instead we travel from topic to topic in discrete, sardonic vignettes that culminate in pithy but unsatisfying kickers: a rueful jab at the “national symphony of commerce, the most authentic-sounding American music of all,” or something about the orchestra on the Titanic playing as the ship went down.B:
生财有道养斗鸡【丁】【原】【和】【马】【三】【并】【肩】【杵】【立】【在】【新】【落】【成】【的】【炼】【钢】【作】【坊】【里】，【眼】【前】【是】【一】【人】【多】【高】【的】【炼】【钢】【坩】【埚】，【中】【间】【有】【一】【根】【耐】【高】【温】【的】【吹】【气】【管】，【直】【插】【入】【铁】【水】【之】【中】。 【炼】【钢】【作】【坊】【里】【使】【用】【的】【煤】【炭】【是】【保】【定】【周】【边】【最】【好】【的】【煤】【炭】，【燃】【烧】【施】【放】【的】【热】【量】【十】【分】【充】【裕】，【只】【用】【了】【一】【个】【多】【时】【辰】【就】【把】【生】【铁】【融】【化】【成】【了】【铁】【水】。 【此】【刻】，【整】【个】【作】【坊】【里】【热】【气】【蒸】【腾】，【即】【便】【是】【距】【离】【锅】【炉】【有】【一】【些】【距】【离】【的】【丁】
【苏】【凌】【这】【身】【手】，【估】【计】【要】【想】【灭】【了】【她】，【一】【根】【手】【指】【头】【就】【够】【了】【吧】。 【吃】【完】【面】【条】，【带】【着】【给】【小】【致】【的】【出】【了】【门】。【肖】【繁】【去】【车】【场】【开】【车】。【柳】【小】【暖】【便】【站】【在】【饭】【店】【门】【口】【等】。 【白】**【面】【馆】【里】【面】【里】【走】【了】【出】【来】，【柳】【小】【暖】【笑】【了】【笑】，【心】【里】【有】【种】【不】【好】【的】【预】【兆】。【刚】【才】【她】【同】【肖】【繁】【一】【起】【结】【账】，【还】【以】【为】【她】【已】【经】【去】【了】【车】【上】【开】【车】【呢】。 【早】【知】【道】【她】【没】【去】，【柳】【小】【暖】【应】【该】【跟】【着】【肖】【繁】【一】
“【哎】【哟】【我】【不】【行】【了】，【累】【死】【了】。”【倪】【初】【心】【退】【到】【操】【场】【一】【边】【气】【喘】【吁】【吁】【地】【说】【道】。【看】【着】【乔】【安】【依】【旧】【活】【力】【满】【满】【地】【在】【那】【东】【奔】【西】【跑】，【不】【禁】【感】【叹】【体】【育】【生】【果】【然】【就】【是】【不】【一】【样】，【体】【力】【太】【好】【了】，【她】【现】【在】【可】【是】【一】【点】【也】【跑】【不】【动】【了】。 “【快】【把】【外】【套】【穿】【上】~”【不】【知】【什】【么】【时】【候】【余】【向】【乘】【也】【退】【出】【了】【混】【战】，【出】【现】【在】【倪】【初】【心】【面】【前】。 “【可】【是】【我】【现】【在】【有】【点】【热】~”【倪】【初】【心】【看】【着】【被】
“【夫】【人】，【开】【门】！【我】【当】【时】【就】【对】【你】【说】【我】【会】【失】【明】，【是】【你】【不】【信】！”【叶】【云】【在】【外】【轻】【轻】【敲】【门】，【而】【夏】【清】【则】【用】【被】【子】【蒙】【着】【头】，【哭】【道】：“【骗】【子】，【骗】【子】，【你】【毁】【了】【我】【的】【清】【白】，【毁】【了】【我】【的】【幸】【福】【人】【生】！” 【叶】【云】【见】【夏】【清】【还】【在】【生】【气】，【直】【道】：“【夫】【人】，【我】【过】【会】【儿】【再】【来】【看】【你】【吧】，【现】【在】【你】【的】【情】【绪】【很】【不】【稳】【定】！”【刚】【要】【转】【身】，【门】【便】【打】【开】，【夏】【清】【一】【副】【要】【吞】【了】【叶】【云】【的】【表】【情】，生财有道养斗鸡【猪】【首】【人】【身】【兽】【没】【有】【想】【到】，【奇】【穷】【竟】【然】【一】【下】【子】【溜】【到】【了】【自】【己】【的】【身】【后】，【这】【时】，【奇】【穷】【的】【两】【只】【虎】【爪】【已】【经】【狠】【狠】【的】【打】【向】【了】【猪】【首】【人】【身】【兽】【的】【脑】【袋】。 【猪】【首】【人】【身】【兽】【心】【知】【躲】【不】【过】【去】【了】，【吓】【得】【一】【愣】，【闭】【上】【了】【眼】【睛】，【但】【猪】【首】【人】【身】【兽】【等】【待】【的】【疼】【痛】，【并】【没】【有】【落】【在】【自】【己】【的】【头】【上】。 【就】【在】【刚】【才】【那】【一】【刻】，【兔】【首】【人】【身】【兽】【冲】【了】【过】【来】，【抛】【出】【无】【极】【金】【叶】【扇】【打】【在】【了】【奇】【穷】【的】【手】【上】
【听】【到】【尖】【叫】【声】【的】【瞬】【间】，【山】【崎】【脑】【海】【中】【顿】【时】【浮】【现】【出】【了】【有】【人】【手】【里】【握】【着】【刀】，【尖】【叫】【着】【朝】【自】【己】【杀】【来】【的】【画】【面】，【以】【至】【于】【他】【在】【瞬】【间】【就】【把】【头】【转】【了】【过】【去】，【手】【中】【握】【着】【咖】【啡】【杯】，【做】【好】【了】【用】【咖】【啡】【杯】【反】【击】【的】【准】【备】。 【然】【而】，【当】【他】【回】【头】【的】【时】【候】，【发】【现】【自】【己】【并】【没】【有】【被】【攻】【击】。 【尖】【叫】【的】【人】，【是】【一】【个】***，【她】【单】【手】【掩】【着】【嘴】，【嘴】【里】【喊】【个】【不】【停】，【手】【指】【指】【着】【前】【方】。
【叶】【凌】【风】【这】【副】“【事】【不】【关】【己】【高】【高】【挂】【起】”【的】【态】【度】【让】【众】【人】【看】【得】【是】【一】【愣】【一】【愣】【的】。 【这】【个】【家】【伙】【是】【在】【心】【中】【笃】【定】【自】【己】【肯】【定】【是】【不】【会】【有】【事】【的】，【还】【是】【他】【真】【的】【神】【经】【大】【条】【啊】！ 【此】【时】【在】【众】【人】【的】【心】【里】【都】【冒】【出】【了】【这】【样】【的】【一】【个】【想】【法】，【但】【很】【快】【的】，【众】【人】【便】【将】【这】【个】【念】【头】【从】【自】【己】【的】【脑】【海】【中】【驱】【逐】【了】【出】【去】。 【如】【今】【情】【况】【未】【明】，【哪】【里】【还】【有】【时】【间】【顾】【及】【一】【个】【无】【关】【紧】【要】【的】【小】
【最】【后】【在】【大】【衣】【柜】【里】【看】【到】【两】【个】【人】【互】【相】【依】【偎】【着】【睡】【着】【了】。 【一】【幕】【幕】【在】【眼】【前】【交】【替】【出】【现】，【过】【往】【如】【流】【水】【般】【都】【从】【记】【忆】【中】【涌】【出】【来】。 【如】【今】，【桂】【花】【依】【旧】【开】，【满】【院】【子】【的】【香】【气】，【只】【是】【物】【是】【人】【非】【了】。 【自】【从】【沈】【逸】【寒】【的】【母】【亲】【去】【世】，【沈】【道】【儒】【娶】【了】【罗】【钰】【琳】【之】【后】，【沈】【逸】【寒】【就】【变】【了】。 【那】【年】【沈】【逸】【寒】【十】【岁】，【就】【像】【是】【一】【夜】【之】【间】【就】【长】【大】【了】【一】【样】。 【他】【再】【也】【不】【爱】
“【真】【的】。” 【李】【起】【一】【听】【老】【汉】【说】【知】【道】【有】【一】【条】【路】，【顿】【时】【大】【喜】，【激】【动】【得】【紧】【抓】【住】【那】【老】【汉】【的】【手】【不】【放】。 “【老】【伯】，【你】【快】【说】【这】【条】【路】【在】【哪】【里】，【此】【事】【事】【关】【四】【川】【百】【姓】【福】【祉】，【事】【关】【我】【大】【明】【天】【下】【安】【危】，【还】【请】【老】【伯】【定】【要】【助】【我】。” 【那】【老】【汉】【见】【李】【起】【并】【没】【有】【追】【究】【他】【开】【始】【隐】【瞒】【事】【情】【的】【罪】【过】，【心】【中】【也】【是】【顿】【时】【放】【心】，【而】【后】【便】【道】：“【请】【皇】【上】【随】【老】【汉】【来】，【老】【汉】【这】