7. Wallpaper
There comes a time every year, often in early November, when you’re buying a pair of socks or having a drink at your corner adult refreshment provider, when it happens: there’s something in the air, something meant to be pleasant, but instead it’s like the omnious snap! of that first bolt that holds the wing to the fuselage. But in this moment, you’re not flying and it’s not a bolt. It’s a carol. A Christmas carol. And for a moment, you think, whoa! Christmas is closer than I thought. But then you sort it out, realize it’s not even Thanksgiving yet, and yet It’s already started: the Christmas playlist. The bartender notices your quizzical look, you raise an eyebrow in the direction of the offending loudspeaker, and she nods her head.
You might comment, “From now to December.” And the last time I had this exchange, the response was, “They kept it going last year until January fifteenth.”
I remember a time when Christmas carols were lovely and even heartfelt. Growing up in Cleveland, a small group of carolers drawn from our high school choir would wander around Shaker Square in the snow, entertaining commuters and shoppers as they went about. I got to conduct. It was Dickens.
It’s funny how a little live music can be completely enriching and satisfying, while vast amounts of recorded music can leave us starved for beauty. As a kid in thrall to the beauty of music I became obsessed with attempting to capture it and replay it. My first experiments meant removing loudspeakers from radios and hanging them around my room. When I was struck by a car while riding my bicycle (from organ practice) I used the proceeds from the insurance to buy my first decent playback system. My passion for attempting to play back the fully captured music continues, although I no longer believe that any system, even those costing in the tens of thousands of dollars, will ever be able to capture the simplest real sound of someone singing or playing music live.
Something happens to music when it goes from being something that’s special and holds our attention for a moment to something that’s just always there, covering the walls and ceiling, always present, often just under the noise floor of what’s ever around us. My concern is if music is always on, then it’s going to be really hard for you or your four-legged friend or even your kids to get all excited when you offer some new music and say, “What do you think of this?” It’d be like re-wallpapering the bathroom and wondering why no one noticed.
You obviously can’t control all of the music that washes around your family’s environment. It’s going to be there in the supermarket, in restaurants, in elevators, and just about anywhere people spend money because years ago Muzak sold the world on the indisputable bottom line proof that background music, if properly calibrated, will increase sales. That’s the deal. Take away music from all those places and the world’s economy will inexorably grind to a halt. No one wants that.
Fortunately, there are places that you have some say. Inside your car, for instance, or in your home.
The magical thing is, once you’re created little sanctuaries of silence, or at least no background music, then when you and Fido hear some, it’s more likely to be special. When was the last time you heard Silent Night and thought it was beautiful? It can be, you know.
The other thing a parent can do is seek out opportunities for chances to hear live music. Musicians love to play and be heard, so no matter how small your community, there’s bound to be some good music going on somewhere. Many large religious organizations are delighted to show of their choirs and their organs, or even to have their (quiet) sanctuaries provide a performing arts space.
My kids allowed me to drag them to concert here and there, especially if it was on a slow Saturday or Sunday. And the deal always was, if they didn’t like it, we could leave after they had given it a fair try. And there were times, I must admit, I was relieved when they got fidgety.
I love to get ready for most vacations by reading travel guides, since they’re so good at finding hotels and restaurants and art museums. It took a while for it to dawn on me that the other parts of life that I love, and had space for on vacation, was live theater or dance or music. And the weird thing is, you generally won’t find them listed in the guide books, since they tend to be transient events. You really have to dig them out, and it’s often not that easy. Even the concierges in good hotels haven’t got a clue that just around the corner is one of the world’s great jazz trios, and just for three nights. Or how many people know, when they’re in a major city for just a few days, that there’s a wonderful ballet company, or theatre company putting on something and there are still tickets?
I have been passing through Amsterdam from time to time, and of course who wouldn’t plan to spend some time at the great national museum, the Rijksmuseum, and the Van Gogh Museum as well. But for years it never occurred to me to check on what might be going on over at the Concertgebouw, one of the two or three most acoustically perfect concert halls on earth and the home of the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra. The last time we were in Amsterdam we could only get really poor last- minute seats in the very back corner of the main floor of the hall. It didn’t make any difference. The acoustics are so immediate, and the orchestra so downright gorgeous, that we were riveted by music that was both familiar as well as pieces we were hearing for the first time.
Interestingly, I can recall very few experiences traipsing around a museum, no matter how phenomenal the onslaught of masterpieces might be, where I felt rattled, or transformed, or whatever it is when you are deeply touched by beauty. But in live performance, it happens a lot.
And then one day he arrived at the second half of a concert, and it happened to be Beethoven’s Fifth. Most people on earth know the opening, and it hit him somewhere — maybe some magical spot between the mind and heart, I’m guessing. For the first time, I saw his arms, and then his legs, uncross. He listened raptly for the entire four movements. Max had begun to find his way in.
Attempting to get your flea-bearer to enjoy music as much as you do (and the same is likely true for your child) is much more likely to achieve success if you can get as much as possible of the real thing in front of them. Find some live music (by the way, people singing and playing through sound systems does not count, or is at least a pretty tough compromise) and follow it with a treat, and you’ll be well on your way.