Philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche once wrote, “Without music, life would be a mistake.” That still makes a lot of sense.
We earthlings have always used music to celebrate life and love and to solace our grief during hard times. The human voice was the first musical instrument used by our ancient ancestors to express their emotions.
Adam and Eve probably sang a lamentation as they trudged out of Eden and Captain Noah might have crooned the first sea shanty to quiet his nervous animal passengers.
Archeologists have discovered the oldest known song score inscribed on a clay tablet in cuneiform figures 3,400 years ago and the Cro-Magnon artists who painted hunting scenes on the cave walls in Lascaux, France 20,000 years ago most likely hummed as they created their dramatic illustrations by lamp light.
It’s an instinctive human custom. I often find myself singing a sad tune while scraping peeling paint off a ceiling or changing a tire during a rainstorm. I usually select Gershwin’s “Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen” which is appropriate, but my added lyrics are not suitable for a family audience.
Over the years troubadours added to the Gregorian chant and then came opera in the 17th century. Ragtime, jazz, swing and the blues were born in the early 20th century, but new music has, so far, not completely replaced the old. Thank goodness!
Way back when I was a kid on a car trip with my family, we would sing the latest Bing Crosby or Kate Smith hit and follow with a golden oldie like “Danny Boy” or “Down by the Old Mill Stream”.
And there was that heroic combo in 1912, on the deck of the sinking Titanic, playing familiar tunes to calm the frantic passengers climbing into the lifeboats. All eight musicians perished that night. “Nearer my God to Thee” was their final number.
A great rift was created in the 1950’s when rock ‘n roll was born. Many of us fogies have just never got it. And it can’t be avoided at a modern wedding reception where the D.J. insists on an ultra-high decibel level that results in shouting matches for the old folks trying to converse. There’s the joke about a rock club waiter dropping a large tray of drinks which caused all the youngsters to get up to dance.
Recently I was bombarded with raucous “music” while shopping in a supermarket. For a while I paused to listen closely. The screeching went on for five minutes. The lyrics consisted of one short ungrammatical sentence: “I ain’t got no lovin’ baby!” which was repeated a dozen times. Was the cost of broadcasting this cacophony being tacked onto my grocery bill?
The “song” ended with a five-second scream. I went to the courtesy desk to register a sarcastic complaint. “That was either the most annoying music I have ever heard, or someone is being attacked in aisle five.”
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Imagine That 