Two music-related events have collided for me recently.
First, The Essentials have been planning our next album, and in doing so, have had to do some soul searching and exploration as to what is so appealing to our audience about our music, so we can capture it in the studio.
Second, I’m reading a book called This is Your Brain on Music. I guess it was first published in 2006, so I’m a little behind the times. According to that hyperlink the book "describes the components of music and ties them to neuroanatomy, neurochemistry, cognitive psychology and evolution" and people like George Martin, Neil Peart, and Pete Townshend have praised it. I’m not going to do any such thing. It’s interesting, but for me to praise it would mean that it would have to be the type of book I can’t put down. I put this book down a lot, but it’s interesting enough that I do want to finish it.
So, two music-related events. First, planning and exploring our own music to prepare for our album. Second, reading a book that is basically about how our noggins process music.
Something was stated in the book that I found interesting. I’ll quote it;
"Some of the oldest physical artifacts found in human
and protohuman excavation sites are musical instruments:
bone flutes and animal skins over tree stumps to make drums.
Only relatively recently in our own culture, five hundred years ago
or so ago, did a distinction arise that cut society in two,
forming separate classes of music performers and music listeners.
Throughout most of the world and for most of human history,
music making was as natural an activity as breathing and walking,
and everyone participated."
Everyone participated. Interesting, eh? It means that just a couple of hundred years before Mozart hit the scene everyone participated. Everyone. That would have included you. So, if your great-great-great-etc-grandparent went to a concert, they were always also the main act!
So, we’re not wired to sit and stoically observe music being performed; we’re wired to participate.
Whether it’s tapping your foot, clapping your hands, or singing along, that’s how we’re made. Go to your nearest Irish pub on St. Patrick’s Day if you need more proof.
Anyway, I think that’s part of the appeal of acappella music versus say, a string quartet. Whether you have a high voice, low voice, or don’t even see yourself as someone singing a lead (you’d be amazed how terrified some people are of the word ‘karaoke’), there is a part for everyone in this style of music. I can’t count how many people have come up to me after a show and said something like "we put your recording of Brown Eyed Girl on and my boyfriend tries to sing your bass part" or "my sister sounds so ridiculous screeching out Dan’s lead when we play Lion Sleeps Tonight in the car".
I love it. Be the headliner, dammit! Take centre stage.
As far as eureka moments go, this is a mild one. I think it’s something I’ve always known, but never verbalized before: This is the kind of music you can sing along to no matter what your voice type is. My bandmates and I promise to keep that in mind when we hit the studio next week. But, since we are earth-conscious, we promise not to use animal skins or tree stumps to make it happen.
