Someone (Mme. De Sta‰l to be precise) once said, “Music revives the recollection it would appease.” I’m not really sure what that means, but I think it sounds kinda cool. The only thing that surpasses listening to music in its ability to revive the recollections it would appease is actually producing the music yourself.

I am no great singer, but I love to sing, specifically when it doesn’t matter what I sound like. It pleases me. It’s not that I don’t like sounding good. There is just something liberating about singing loudly and off-key. And it’s more fun if someone else is doing it with you.

My sisters and I used to go out in the barn and choreograph song and dance numbers to perform. Our audience usually only consisted of the odd cat or dog, but we were pleased with ourselves. Since “The Hisel Sisters” isn’t exactly lyric, we decided to call ourselves Midnight Rhythm. (Cool huh? Especially for the ’80s.)

For the time being, Midnight Rhythm has put its musical career on hold to pursue other independent projects. But we still give limited performances. They mostly take place in the back of my parents’ van while we’re all driving to some family outing. I’m sure my parents relish our robust trios and haunting solos. Sometimes they’re even inspired to contribute to our sing-alongs.

Members of my family aren’t the only people treated to the achievements of lungs and vocal chords. Many a friend of mine has been treated to a heartfelt serenade (whether they wanted one or not). Two of my favorite numbers are the showtunes “Santa Fe” from the Disney movie “Newsies” and “Gary, Indiana” from “The Music Man” (in that order).

“Santa Fe” is about a 17-year-old boy who sells newspapers in turn-of-the-century New York but dreams of running off to a better life in Santa Fe. Not unlike my own situation. That is to say, I was once 17, I read newspapers occasionally and I have heard of both New York and Santa Fe.

“Gary, Indiana” has been on my singing list going on five and a half years now. It’s been running through my head since I was in a high school production of “The Music Man” my freshman year. I find this particular selection intensely odd because I dislike Gary, Indiana.

I’ve never been anywhere in Indiana, you understand, so this dislike isn’t based on any actual experience of the area. I’m sure Indiana is truly a lovely place, but it reminds me of coarse, dull-colored paper. I realize that sounds stupid, but that’s the kind of feeling my mind gets when I think of Indiana.

And as for the name, Gary, I just have an inherent problem with that name. No offense if you happen to be named Gary. I’ve only known two people named Gary that I can think of, and I liked both of them well enough, so it’s nothing personal. It just bothers me.

Besides those standards, my repertoire contains a whole slew of old favorites that inspire a mild measure of mania when ever they come on the radio. “Ooh, ooh, I love this song,” I yelp and crank up the volume. I usually try to keep my fanaticism under control in the presence of others. Despite my diligence, however, I have managed to embarrass myself once or twice.

My oldest sister, Lisa, got married two and a half years ago, and I got to be one of the bridesmaids. (Of course, our other sister, Jodi, got to be the maid-of-honor, but I’m not bitter about it.) At the reception dance, I ended up cutting the rug with one of the groomsmen, John, who was one of my brother-in-law’s college buddies.

At the beginning of the night, I was a bit nervous because I didn’t really know John at all and I’m not used to dancing with strangers. To make it worse, before the dance even started, my sisters were giving me hey-hey eyebrow raises, as if to say, “Go get ’em, Juli.” The idea was preposterous since he was eight years older than me, engaged and living far away. But the insinuation added to my discomfort.

The song “Lady In Red” came on. I’d always thought this was a pretty cool song — something that romantic men around the world should be singing to the women they loved. (Well, at least in English-speaking countries.) When the song started, I blurted out, “Oh, I love this song. Too bad I’m not wearing a red dress.” (Our bridesmaid’s dresses were instead a nice, deep green.)

As we danced, I managed to restrain myself from humming along, but I listened to the words instead. “Lady in red is dancing with me, cheek to cheek…” That was cool since I was dancing with someone. Then, “I hardly know this beauty by my side … I never will forget the way you look tonight.” Hmm, I forgot about this part, I thought. This is kind of embarrassing. Why did I say that about the dress? I hope he didn’t think it was some sort of come-on.

I blushed and looked at John. He didn’t seem to have noticed anything. I guess as far as pick-up lines go, mine was a pretty bad one, so it turned out okay.

I’d like to close with a paraphrase from a wise singing group I’m sure you’re all familiar with by now. (No, not Midnight Rhythm.) I speak of the Muppets on “Sesame Street,” that band of sages that has taught us all so much.

Sing a song. Make it simple to laugh your whole life long. Don’t worry if it’s not good enough for anyone else to hear.

Just sing a song. Words to live by.

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Juli Hisel is a sophomore in English from Richland.