Music. Think about a single string plucked on a guitar or a single piano note played. The moment the sound starts, we enter a different dimension of time, space and universal human communication. We all know this when we experience it, not only in the massive light-show rock concerts of the present day, but also in historic cathedrals and through millennia of initiation and healing rituals in Indigenous towns and villages worldwide. There is little question that, together, we all feel the draw of connection.
Music and dance have long been known as forms of transcendence, perhaps arising for humans even before spoken “unsung” words evolved. When we are exploring in the natural world, does anyone who hears a bird or animal call not feel tempted to emit an imitative answer?
But what of making music? So many people in our society have missed or passed by the invitation to engage in this ultra-human experience. Unless we grow up in a musical family or a culture that emphasizes music and dance in religious or social settings, we were probably not encouraged or welcomed into the world of musicians.
It was my great luck and fortune to grow up in a music-filled home—and that a twinkly-eyed Mrs. Fleck took me out of fourth-grade class to try a different instrument each week. I guess word had traveled that I had taught myself to read the music for the Marine’s Hymn on the back of the plastic-melody-flute book. Who can explain why a shy 9-year-old would feel driven to learn to read notes and memorize a song, let alone play a solo for the class?
For youth and adults to engage with music, it helps to have a welcoming village. When I first moved to West Marin in the early 1990s, I hosted a weekly jam session at the Dance Palace for a couple of years. Lots of players attended, and a very casual but attentive group of people was present. I made sure to ask the audience if anyone wished to come up and play or sing, and several people did.
Think of the millions of people in the multi-flavored melting pot of the United States who might have had only a few music lessons or a few years of instruction when they were young, and those who veered around the issue by engaging in other interests. Later, people often feel otherwise, as evidenced by many from their 40s to their 80s who talk about this to me. They typically say, “Oh, I wish I had studied an instrument as a child,” or “I wish I had stayed with my music lessons instead of quitting.” I often reply with a smile, “Well, what about now?”
How to begin? The endeavor relies on a strong wish. The drive to play a song or an instrument often takes a combination of curiosity and yearning almost akin to hunger. Then, sometimes the desire arrives to play or move to music with other people. That’s when the sharing of time in other dimensions can become an immersion in rhythmic play and joy.
It’s almost amusing to think that all this beauty in sound comes about simply by moving air around. Everywhere on the planet, people have blown air through blades of grass, built boxes to vibrate strings, stretched animal skins (and now plastic) across round sound chambers and shaped tubes for creating different pitches in columns of air. Perhaps these things affect and motivate us because our human hearts themselves are inherently musical.
Jazz, blues or improvisational music is a fertile place to start. In jazz, jam sessions are an important zone for informal education and familiarization. With a traditional rhythm section providing the momentum and form, a cool blues solo only requires a beginning player or singer to know two notes and a tiny fragment of syncopated rhythm we call a riff. In this and many other styles, music welcomes everyone to its lift-off and its aftermath of well-being.
Over the years, I have spent many intellectually and philosophically nourishing hours rehearsing music for cello in orchestras and chamber music groups. I have also enjoyed the freedom and alertness of improvising on percussion with players and vocalists of all levels of experience. For me, probably the top of the world was driving the rhythmic engine on a drum set under the massive sound of piano, bass, trombones, trumpets and saxophones in a wailing big-band jazz ensemble directed by a jazz master who played in Count Basie’s orchestra in the 1940s.
During a 10-year period of percussion studies in my 30s, I was able to travel and study with the world-touring traditional drumming masters of Senegal. Each day held six hours of drum lessons and dance class accompaniment. During that time, I experienced the dramatic healing of an old injury. (Imagine a medical school program that requires future doctors to study music and movement as part of their toolbox!)
When we listen to music, we are carried along by the artist’s experience with multi-dimensional currents and energies. Temporarily entering a different dimension can be as simple as putting on a recording of a favorite piece of music and moving along with it on the spot, or even just listening while cleaning the kitchen. Witness the power of Aretha Franklin’s rendition of Amazing Grace on the film by that name (you can watch it online) or her rendition of the power of music in Don’t Play That Song (also online).
From a lifetime of musical adventuring, I’ve come to understand the transformational impact of improvisational music, especially when approached with consciousness of and respect for its origins in ceremonial and healing arts. In this context, there is musical space for everybody.
Joyce Kouffman is a lifelong musician with education as diverse as classes with Leonard Bernstein, immersions with master drummers of Senegal and college performances with Yo-Yo Ma. She coaches all levels on many instruments and strongly supports both adult novices and mature students seeking greater access to their own creativity. She also offers customized guidance for individuals and groups who wish to increase creative activities of all kinds each day, either pro bono or by donation. Her latest recording is Guitar Love. Learn more at www.JoyceJazz.com.