Music in any language can be enjoyed

We went to a concert last night. It was a group I had never heard of and most of the songs were in French or a combination of French and English. The high school French I remember from eons ago allowed me to pick out a few words like, “I, you and good night.” The rest was a mystery.

 Several times the lead singer attempted to teach the rest of us a few foreign words, such as “des fois” which means, “sometimes” and was part of an audience participation song. I confess, I had to look it up today. He also translated the main theme of the songs for us non-French speakers.

Nevertheless, the music was enjoyable. There is something about not having to be bothered with language that allows me to concentrate on the sounds. The zydego beat was happy and energetic. The band members appeared to be enjoying themselves even when they adamantly denied an audience request for a triangle solo. All in all it was well worth the price of admission.

 Not understanding the words took me back to when my mom used to sing. Her songs didn’t have words or even a coherent melody. They were made up of nonsense syllables and bits and pieces of tunes. I loved it and thought she had the most beautiful voice.

Years later I heard her singing to my nephew and was shocked at the course and discordant sound coming from the living room. I am not sure if she had gotten more hoarse over the years or if my memory was shot. It was probably a little of both.

These days I sing when I’m alone. Sometimes I sing nonsense songs just like my mom used to do. Sometimes I sing ones that actually make sense. I rarely sing on key.

When my grandsons were very little, I would wedge myself into their outdoor swing. The only swing song I knew was, “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” and I would cuddle one of them while I sang. I remember holding baby Nicholas and older brother Jacob demanding, “Sing you song.” He hadn’t mastered the possessive, “your” yet.

All of these memories were floating through my mind as I lost myself in the melodies wafting through the air. I looked around and saw that I was surrounded by happy faces. Nobody was singing along. Nobody was playing on their phone, either.  I wondered if the sounds evoked other fond memories in other people’s minds.

I wonder if that is why music is a cultural universal. Every culture on earth has some kind of music. No two are alike. Middle eastern music is far different from what is popular with American youth. Music takes in the flavor of where it is created. It can soothe or energize. It can be secular or religious. It can be background noise or not. Music can be as simple as birdsong or as complex as a symphony orchestra. Music can be a refuge or a means of communication. It can be anything you need it to be.

 We went to a concert yesteray. It was a welcome escape from our usual routine. The band was entertaining and seemed to be enjoying the evening as much as we were. Plus we learned a new word. Des fois that is a good thing.