I read a newspaper article once that analyzed why, in a world run by evolution and survival of the fittest, musicians survived. After all, in the time of cavemen, survival depended upon physical strength and the ability to feed yourself and others, not the ability to play “Piano Man” to a group of swooning cavewomen. How, the article asked, did the musical ability gene survive and why, if it didn’t actually aid in survival? Why are musicians often considered so attractive? What are the implications about music, dance, and the arts and their necessity to human survival above and beyond the basic needs of food and shelter? In short, why is Adam Levine so freaking hot when we all know he couldn’t wrestle a tiger for us and come out alive?
Recently, I went to two concerts. The first was the Indigo Girls, whom I have loved for a very long time and whose songs speak to my heart in its native tongue. Seeing them was like seeing old friends or finding an old flannel shirt from college (as yes, I did come of age smelling like teen spirit). My friend and I stood in what seemed to be a gathering of seriously every single lesbian our city could muster — which was kind of an awesome break from Homogeneous Soccer Mom Suburbia — and we sang ourselves hoarse along with Amy and Emily.
But I was taken off guard when the band left the stage and Amy and Emily announced they were going to sing a request. The familiar opening notes began, and I was immediately fighting tears.
Thought I knew my mind like the back of my hand…
The Indigo Girls’ song “Watershed” was a personal anthem for me many years ago, when I went through what was by far the most difficult time in my life. I could have hoped for them to sing it to me, but I never imagined it would actually happen. And as my lips formed the words silently while tears sprang from the corners of my eyes despite my best efforts, I felt the rush of the emotion that I used to feel when I sang that song every single morning in my car on the way to work. I played it over and over on my morning commute, giving myself a cartharsis, letting myself sob it all out until my eyes were puffy and my cheeks flushed. By the time I reached my office, I was spent, emotionally bled out, but somehow this allowed me to go about the rest of my day without bursting into tears at work. That song both brought me to my knees and buoyed me in my darkest hour. Hearing it again, and watching them actually sing it to me (and, okay, hundreds of others), was almost a spiritual moment.
Just four days later, I had a last-minute opportunity to snag two tickets to the Maroon 5 concert. It was Spring Break, and most of my friends were elsewhere, so I decided to take my 10 year old to his first concert. It was, of course, a different kind of spiritual experience (see above re: hot Adam Levine). The concert was sold out, and the crowd was very different. Instead of standing room only at the House of Blues, it was tens of thousands of people screaming in a huge arena. But I felt the energy of the crowd, and the way the music surged through people and lifted them. It wasn’t the same as the Indigo Girls, but it was still real. Watching my son experience live music for the first time, and the way a crowd reacts to the performers and sings their words back to them, I felt like I was giving him a different kind of education. I was passing down a love. My first real concert was Michael Jackson’s Thriller tour when I was a child, but my first concert as a child old enough to listen to music of her own choice was INXS, and I still remember it.
After the concert, we bought Mason a ridiculously overpriced souvenir T-shirt, because that is part of the whole experience. As we sat in the car listening to songs we had just heard live, waiting for the bazillion cars in front of us to get out of the way so we could get home, I thought of that newspaper article I read. Why does the musical gene survive when it doesn’t feed our bodies and help us survive in the wild? Are the arts essential to human survival? I think the answer is clear. Musicians might not feed our bodies, but they feed our souls. Seeing my child grow into this realization has been one of those milestones that make my heart swell, like the first time I caught him reading a book with a flashlight in bed or talking about math with a friend outside of a classroom.
I wonder what songs will speak to his heart in its native tongue? What musicians will make him cry, and why?
I’ve never been a concert goer, but Michael Jackson’s Thriller tour would have been awesome.
I think the musicians and the artists survived because they helped (and continue to help) us understand ourselves and our world. They show us what is possible. I believe that the creative gene is so essential to human happiness and well being, that it had to survive.
Great post, Allison. I love how you tied this all together.
I’m so glad you bought him an overpriced concert t-shirt! I think that is a must for a first concert. Mine was Rick Springfield, and I had a lovely pink Rick t-shirt to show for it!
Now that I know how you feel about “Watershed,” I understand even better how deeply we are connected. When you’re learning to face the path at your pace, every choice is worth your while. XO
PS I also am glad about the overpriced t-shirt. Essential.
I loved this. I always forget (and need to be reminded) that music is the ultimate antidepressant. You inspired me to rock a breakfast time dance party with my toddler. My first concert was Hall & Oates but I’ll never forget INXS on their Kick tour – I was super in love with Michael Hutchence (so sad).
Dr. Brene Brown’s reasearch has found that play, song and dance are an essential part of a successful, fulfilled life. Creative expression has been around since cave paintings.
Oh, wow … I have Watershed in my head now, on my lips, playing on my computer. It’s one of my very favorites too (of course)! xox
I love a music post!! I want listen to indigo girls while making out with Adam Levine. My first concert was Terence Trent darby. Then Michael Jackson. Then InXs.
I love this question.
I love knowing that they will love and obsess and look back on things. The wondering is insane, but I also revel in knowing that some of the memories that we are giving them will stick.
It was just what we needed! Oliver Sacks explored this in Musicophilia, an interesting study of what music actually does in the brain.
Such an Indigo fan. Loved this post.
I think there is something undefinably enduring about music. Music is a part of my every day life, and it’s this unstoppable force – I can’t imagine not participating in that, whether as a listener or a creator of it. It’s healing and invigorating, and it articulates every emotion and state of mind. How could something so full of life ever die out? I have heard several specials about Margaret Thatcher since her death this week, and NPR aired something yesterday going over music that was created during her tenure. It made me think of your post here, and that for all of the other wonderful things it is, music is also a record of history (no pun intended). It anchors an era, brings clarity, gives a united voice to people protesting or encouraging a position in life. Bards back in the day were vitally important to their cultures – emphasizing their nation’s virtues, allowing people to relive something long over, to pay tribute to the past, to glorify a leader, to stamp down an enemy, and to provide an avenue for those who hadn’t been there and should know about it. How absolutely amazing is music?!
Ooohh… though I used to be nicknamed “concert girl” I have never managed to catch Indigo Girls. Jealous. But yes, I have stood at a concert and let the music flow through my body, let tears cleanse my soul. There is nothing else like it.
Most of my memories have a theme song. Whenever I hear that particular song I flashback with all senses. Music is life.
My hubby (*gasp*) wanted to go to the Maroon 5 show. He only discovered them after I explained how Adam was a yoga geek (like him) and I reintroduced him to pop music at the PINK concert. I’ve created a monster.
Great post!