The Language of the Soul
“Without music life would be a
mistake.”
[2]
What a powerful, potent expression. In my opinion, music is the emotive glue
that holds every being together. It can make us laugh and cry at once, with no
idea why. Music has the power to make us
feel.
Feel what? Anything and everything, all at once. It is a most contradictorily
simplistic notion, one that is difficult to express. Yet we all know what
others mean when they speak of a certain piece of music that gave them chills
or hit them in the gut like a bullet piercing the Kevlar of their Emotion-Proof
Vest. Music is universal, yet extremely personal. Each of us can hear a piece
of music differently, yet all of us in some sense are affected. For these
reasons and many others, music is my passion.
Grant
it, I am a very passionate person, and thus claim a multitude of other
obsessions. I am overwhelmed by the act of learning (which almost became my
subject for this essay), and the inspired creativity it can enact. The way a
person lights up when they realize the significance of a piece of knowledge.
Learning is something we all can love, in some shape or form. In this way it is
like music. However, why I choose music as that ultimate, defining passion in
my life is because it is the purest expression of what passion really is: perfect emotion, wordless
communication. It fills the void where words and even knowledge fail. One
cannot describe a color in words, but Stevie Ray Vaughan’s guitar can make me
feel as blue or as red or as green as a filtered light in a grimy New Orleans
jazz club.
Although
I know that my ardent love affair with music began at a very young age, I
cannot trace it back to a specific moment or source. It is an aspect of myself
as familiar as an appendage or a cognitive language. In truth, it probably
slipped into me around the same time as verbal communication would have. I
would have been exposed to it in equal measure. My parents were and are music
fanatics, and one cannot be in my home for long without hearing someone burst
into song. Rushing through those early developmental stages of life in this
climate, I am told I would bounce in my Bouncy-Saucer to the beat of whatever
song was playing. Whether this is entirely true, I know not. Perhaps I was
simply bobbing and happened along the beat every once in a while. I certainly
like to think it was true, if for the entertaining image alone.
Some of my
earliest memories as a child revolve around music. The most lasting of these
occurred one morning with my father as he drove with me to church. I had
recently taken notice of the fact that he was perpetually singing one tune or
another. I asked him why, to which he promptly replied, “Well, because I’m
happy, bud.” This struck a chord in me, no pun intended. From that point on,
music was associated with happiness and happy memories. It took on as well a
mystical quality. To a boy, anything his father acknowledges as great are
thereafter put on a pedestal. So it was with music.
Others flashes of the discombobulated color
and noise that serve as our childhood memories revolve around the subject. My
mother has always loved musicals and classical movies, and thus I was brought
up hearing Singin’ in the Rain and
Que Sera, Sera from the Man Who Knew too
much. My grandfather would sing “You are my Sunshine” to me as a child.
Many of these recollections I had never connected to my passion for music until
recently. Yet now I see the significance: music has simply always held a
positive connotation.
As I grew, my musical preferences molded into personal
taste. Varied over time, this palate has progressed from Screamo in those angst
ridden years of preadolescence to the soulful, aggressive blues of Dan Auerbach
and Jack White; to the jaggedly raw, impassioned lyricism of Marcus Mumford;
and the quiet, simple honesty of the Avett Brothers and Citizen Cope. Some of
these artists still inspire me at each listen, while others remind me of
painful memories I’d rather forget. Either way, the music remains, imprinted in
staves upon my mind. Certain lyrics remain red-hot in memory, as well as do the
lives of those who created it. “You don't need anybody to tell you who you are
or what you are. You are what you are!
[3]. .
. “My music fights against the system that teaches to live and die.”
[4]
[5] Bob Marley of course, author of the
latter quote above.
At some point I
also realized that while hearing music would in itself leave me awestruck, the
creation of it could feed me. I sang
and eventually picked up guitar, eager to somehow give back to what had given
me so much. That doesn’t make much logical sense. It . . . just seemed a sin
not to try creating my own interpretations. I thought somehow, maybe, that others
could be touched by what I created, just as I had been inspired. I daydreamed
about one day having a band, how COOL that would be! I wanted to be that front
man on stage, kicking out footlights and smashing guitars. Although this dream
has not yet come to fruition in that sense, I did as much in music as a student
as possible. I felt that in some small way my actions had maybe inspired someone. There was an instance, for
example, wherein a man whom had recently lost his wife to cancer, and came to
me after I had performed in my high school production of Les Miserables. He
told me that the finale of that show had given him an image of what he hoped
heaven would be like. The experience still gives me chills in recollection. I
was so very humbled, to think that a man in such pain could somehow take solace
in what we had performed.
Hugh
Jackman. He played Jean Valjean in the movie portrayal of Les Mis, and is one of my favorite actors. What a
badass.
I suppose my
explanation is all very well and good, but in the words of Professor J. Gilbert
McAllister, “so what? . . . What difference does it make?”[7]
What does it matter? Does any of
this really matter if I don’t then use the gifts I have been given for the
benefit of others? Is this the specific gift bestowed upon me for that purpose?
In all honesty, to this final question I have no response. I ask it of myself
every day, never any closer to an answer. Of late, I have decided, it seems,
that the answer is no. The snarling dogs of reason and logic encircling me, I
chose to drop my music major, telling myself that, “I’d never truly make it.
I’d end up bitter and unsuccessful, wishing I’d become a lawyer or professor.”
This seems sound in reasoning, even still. But then, where has my happiness
gone? My cup is no longer filled, soul no longer sure. I debate transferring to
Belmont University in Nashville, to pursue music and a major in Music Business.
I long to be enveloped by music again. Could I find another passion to feed
upon, or is this my reason for being? And yet, the purpose of this essay is not
a personal, existential battle, but the aforementioned question. So what?
The
future that I have always wanted-- desperately so-- has nothing in truth to do
with monetary reward or large-scale success. To me, the greatest impact any one
being can have on the world is to inspire another. It can be a hundred thousand
people, or one small child. It matters little. To some the world we live in is
arduous, unhappy, and filled with suffering. Yet inspiration can make life
glorious in scope and meaning. If your actions can move another to trudge one
more day through the mire, to see life as those with inspiration do, then you
have obtained success.
Bearing
this in mind, I feel that there are a multitude of ways I could help people
through music. Even without making it my career. For the sake of argument, I
will choose to imagine that I decide to make my way into the music industry. In
five years, I want to see myself on some sort of stage, be it large or small.
The setting is in reality unimportant. I would like to have written music of my
own, or possibly to have a group with whom I write. I see myself playing this
music in a setting intimate enough for me to connect with an audience. I would
love the opportunity to create music with those around me organically. Simply
allowing music to grow from playing together creates something beautiful, and
artists such as Bob Dylan were known for coming up with their best records in
this fashion. “He just started strummin’ and we jumped in after about two or
four bars. . . There’s no overdubbing. There’s no patching up. . . What you
heard is what we did.”
[8]
The ability to
create such a situation would be an attempt to inspire. I feel that playing
music for others would become a service. A way for me to give back to others
with those gifts that I possess. I would not wish to do so for personal vanity or
gain, but so that others may be moved by what I have to say. This in turn would
serve the somewhat more selfish notion of helping answer what I consider life’s
difficult questions. We are all here, therefore have something to live for, but
what I am here to live for? For what purpose was I given life? If I could
somehow find the answers, I feel that these truths would “set me free”. Art is
a way for humanity to do just that, and music especially is an outward cry for answers.
Music is an
avenue through which we explore each other and ourselves. It is the bursting
forth of those emotions we cannot hope to describe. It inspires us in ways not
much else can. Therefore to me it would be the greatest achievement to somehow
do this with my own music and talents. To leave behind such enduring
remembrance of what I stood for could mean that even after I am gone, someone
may still be encouraged by what I experienced and subsequently created. That is
the torch I would leave behind. A message of understanding and inspiration.
Life is not an easy task, but can be beautiful, if one only stops to listen.
I know not
whether I will amount to these ends. Possibly I will follow a completely
separate path, find some other passion to feed my soul. It could be children, a
family, and a normal life. Maybe I really will become a lawyer, or a professor.
These options seem no less viable, important, or worthy. They certainly can be
avenues through which to help and lead others. Music seems simply to bring such
helpfulness from another source: a different way, but no less beneficial to
others. At least one would hope. No matter what I decide, I elieve that in my
future I will use my life and gifts to make others’ lives a little happier, and
a little easier. These ends met, I’ll consider myself a Fortunate Son.
WITH QUOTES: 2043
WITHOUT QUOTES: 1887
[3]
Partridge, Elizabeth.
John Lennon: All I Want is the truth. New
York: Penguin Group, 2005.
[7]
Oliver, Chad.
Some Blues for a Trio.
Composition and World
Literaure. Edited by Jerome Bump. Austin: Jenn's Copy and Binding, 2013.
[8]
Howard, Sounes.
The Life of Bob Dylan. New York: Grove Press, 2001.
