Bob Marley once said, “One good thing
about music, when it hits you, you feel no pain.” The man knew
something. Is there anything that soothes without physically
touching like the tones, rhythms, and lyrics of music? Is there
anything that transports you a zillion miles from wherever you are
and yet, at the same time, paradoxically, drives you to live in the
moment? I readily acknowledge that arguments can be made for other
artistic expressions whether it's poetry, a movie or even a
breathtaking work on canvas. All of these have the potential to
strike us in a way, at both an emotional and even visceral level,
that is disarming, revealing about our inner natures, and a source of
wonderment. But, music – at least for me – is a cut above other
art forms in its ability to move, to turn on the emotional faucets.
It stands alone. Many have said over the centuries that this is man's
greatest gift – the ability to move one's soul through a
progression of notes that, in the abstract, are just random sounds
that, when laced together in a certain order, create the ability to
have one experience the deepest joy or sorrow, energy, euphoria,
reverie, or love.
And, so it is with me. As with most
folks, my yardstick for musical magic is a fluid one. What drove me
to run five miles once or to dance with unabashed abandon years ago
doesn't necessarily do that for me today. I'm not sure why. Have I
tired of the old classics; have I heard them too many times?
Greatness is greatness, right? Whatever the reason, it is an
unending joy that there is seemingly always something new to
transport us, to lift us to new heights, to make us want to get out
of our chairs and just move. I say these things knowing that what
strikes a responsive chord in me is likely musical gibberish to
others. Or worse. Just like tastes in food, clothing, friends, or
soul mates, we all march to our own drummers that often bear simply
no resemblance to another's tastes in the same things.
Take “Red Hands” by Walk Off The
Earth, for example.
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1bt-FHaFVH8).
Here's a tune that no doubt goes unnoticed by many barely raising an
audible ripple to the casual listener. Or, just as likely, the song
falls on almost deaf ears and disappears as a thousand other
forgettable songs do. But, for me, I hear the first few bars and my
head is already nodding, my shoulders almost imperceptibly start
moving up and down, my fingers unconsciously tapping. If I'm
running, “Red Hands” makes me feel like my feet are moving
perfectly in time with the music. My feet are transformed into
metronomes. I feel I am moving forward effortlessly. Whatever
fatigue I might have been experiencing vanishes. For three minutes
plus I am transported, flowing with the music forgetting where I am.
If I'm cooking, “Red Hands” unconsciously leads me to wave,
baton-like, whatever spatula, knife, or tongs I may be wielding in
those moments as if I'm leading a phantom musical ensemble or hitting
those drums with a fervor that anticipates every beat. And, whether
I'm running or cooking, I'm glad I'm standing because I could not be
sitting down for this one. No way.
In a much deeper way, I am seriously awestruck by Per Byhring's "Mr. Wednesday."
(https://soundcloud.com/perbyhring/mr-wednesday).
Perhaps like no other piece of music in my memory, “Mr.
Wednesday” takes over my soul. Completely. I'm not sure where it
takes me, but I know it's not where I am. It is evocative; it is
uplifting; it allows me to think back in time over my life and ahead
to wherever it is I might be going. It starts slowly, softly,
hypnotically. But, at the two minute mark, it opens up with brassy
pronouncements and, if you close your eyes, it does not take great
imagination to see the gates of heaven or to imagine an epic moment
in one's life filled with all that is important. Indeed, I often say
to myself that when I listen to “Mr. Wednesday” I feel something
important is happening. For others to whom I have introduced “Mr.
Wednesday,” this piece of music often strikes them as slow,
repetitive, even boring. I get that. I'm okay with that. Maybe I
would react to their own choices in similar fashion; that's not
important. And, I also feel that, although it would be interesting
to me, I believe it is irrelevant what Mr. Byhring had in mind when
he wrote this piece. I know what I'm getting from it, and that's
plenty.
And, for crying out loud, if you listen
to these musical moments, turn up the volume!
