Nashville music and other musings

Broadway was out of a movie--fiddles and bass lines spilling out into the street every time the doors swung open. Blissfully, the bars were non-smoking, and without a cover you could wander in and out on a whim. Miller Lites and Michelob Ultras abounded, much to the chagrin of my craft beer palate. But it wasn't about the drinks; more than a few were left unfinished on the table if the band wasn't up to snuff. It's all about the music. The pop-country-by-demand of Tootsies ($20 will buy whatever song your heart desires, even if they have to look it up--thank goodness for smart phones) seemed to be the most popular (and lucrative) of styles. But there was old-time honky-tonk, bluegrass, and plenty of electric riffs as well. The talent was incredible. Even when they were reading lyrics and chords from said smart phones, there was no mistaking that these were professionals.

Even more so at the famed Bluebird Cafe, where we were fortunate enough to see a "Songwriters in the Round" concert. These guys were in. cred. i. ble. They took turns playing their own songs, which the others had never heard before; but just by knowing the key and watching the leader play, the others were able to join in, playing harmonies and solos and even backing up the vocals. I wish I could explain it better. It was a treat to watch. I think a smile was plastered on my face the entire time, just watching their faces and fingers as they, too, just enjoyed good music.

As I write this, I'm listening to Michelle's second guitar lesson unfold in the family room. And it all resonates so well with the book I'm reading by acclaimed neurologist Oliver Sacks. "Musicophilia" explores the science and medicine behind our experience of music. From the preface--"What an odd thing it is to see an entire species playing with, listening to, meaningless tonal patterns, occupied and preoccupied for much of their time by what they call 'music.'" Music is a part of us from infancy, for nearly every culture and era in our history, and yet, as I mentioned in the last post, it serves absolutely no evolutionary purpose, has no immediately recognizable benefits for humanity.

I still don't have answers. What is it about music that moves us, challenges us, excites us, touches us? What is it that makes singing praying twice? (or once if you're JPII or me) That makes even atheist Nietzsche say "Without music, life would be a mistake"? To me, it's poignant evidence of a God who wants to speak to our hearts, who delights in our creative exploits, who created us to live life to the fullest. Not merely to our evolutionary potential, but to the FULL.