In the late spring of 2019, I learned The Guardian was looking for essays for a series entitled “How I Fell in Love With …” and on a whim, sent an email to the editor who was running the series. It was fun to write and let her know about my newfound passion, writing books—“music-centric” books, after a full, rich, and happy life as a musician. Much to my amazement, she contacted me within a day or so and asked me to write the article. No deadline, roughly eight hundred words, just expand what I’d sent in my slightly breezy email.
Needless to say, I set to work immediately and was even more amazed when a week or so later I received notice that the article would go online on Friday, May 24. Friday Sydney time, actually. I still was having a hard time processing this, but late Thursday night (PA time) I saw the article online. An article I wrote. In The Guardian.
I shared it all over social media, and early the next morning contacted my sons, both of whom live locally, to share my good news.
Instead, I learned of an awful tragedy. My oldest son runs his own business, providing soil treatment for playing fields, mostly golf courses, from parts of the greater New York City area into Connecticut and Long Island. One of his most valued employees, and a good friend to boot, had drowned in a freak fishing accident Thursday evening. Twenty-nine years old, sole provider for his family; two children, ages one and three. He was a very good friend of my younger son who also works for the company. My sons were heartbroken.
It was one tragedy in the hundreds that happen every day. The pandemic that struck the world the following year, and which we are still experiencing, has caused many such valleys in so many lives. It’s often said, “None of us get out of here alive,” and that is a certainty, but the death of a vital young person is difficult for everyone to process. We go through our lives, aware we could be involved in such a tragedy, but certainly not anticipating it. To my mind, a good thing—we can’t live in constant fear of the bad thing that might be lurking around the next corner.
I am grateful beyond words for the music in my life. My personal motto is “Music—the most powerful force in the universe.” Music can help us grieve, can help us heal, can inspire us, can elevate us as nothing else can. After my week of peaks and valleys, I attended a high school choral concert a few nights later and heard a wide variety of music sung by some great young people, who loved what they were doing and performed exceptionally well.
The final selection on the concert was a powerful and deeply moving choral piece by Joseph Martin, “The Awakening,” which speaks of a world without music. How silent, how sad. The kind of world we’ve been living in for many months. The final part of the song is based on the composer’s personal experience of emotional healing through his music ("Let music never die in me, forever let my spirit sing.") It ends with a burst of brilliance: “Let music live.”
Music is the constant in my life, as I wish it could be in everyone’s life. It’s our connection to heaven, wherever that may be. It’s a gift from our Creator, whatever we may call him. It helps us survive the valleys and delight in the peaks. It elevates and enhances our existence. It makes life worth living.
Let Music Live.
