We’re in March now, late winter, and while the sun is in the sky for longer periods of time, the light is purely hypothetical for the most part here in Portland. For me, the wet cold dark days make it an act of will to be out and about, really living out in the world.

Fortunately, there are books, which propel me into virtual journeys while I curl up on the sofa in multiple layers of fleece. This winter, I stumbled onto two delightful books that both happened to include eloquent passages about the unifying power of music. I read them within the same week, and it was one of those coincidences where you’re hearing the same message from multiple sources, so you’d better slow down and listen.

The first book, French author Muriel Barbery’s The Elegance of the Hedgehog, is a philosophical novel detailing the intertwined stories of two brilliant misfits: a middle-aged concierge who is a closet intellectual, and a disillusioned, precocious teenager. The young girl is keeping a journal of Profound Thoughts and Movements of the World, and one of her entries includes the recounting of her school choir’s performance:

Every time, it’s a miracle. Here are all these people, full of heartache or hatred or desire, and we all have our troubles and the school year is filled with vulgarity and triviality and consequence, and there are all these teachers and kids of every shape and size, and there’s this life we’re struggling through full of shouting and tears and laughter and fights and break-ups and dashed hopes and unexpected luck – it all disappears, just like that, when the choir begins to sing. Everyday life vanishes into song, you are suddenly overcome with a feeling of brotherhood, of deep solidarity, even love, and it diffuses the ugliness of everyday life into a spirit of perfect communion. Even the singers’ faces are transformed: it’s no longer Achilles Gand-Fernet that I’m looking at (he is a very fine tenor), or Deborah Lemeur or Segolene Rachet or Charles Saint-Sauveur. I see human beings, surrendering to music… and I always wonder at such moments why this cannot be the rule of everyday life, instead of being an exceptional moment, during a choir.

This really says it all, and it explains why nearly all the group singing I listen to and participate in can bring a swell to my heart and tears to my eyes at any moment. Human beings raising their voices in song: there’s nothing quite like it!

The second book, Give Me Liberty by L.M. Elliott, is a story about a teenaged indentured servant named Nathaniel living in Virginia on the eve of the American Revolution. Deserted by his parents and abused by former masters, he is purchased by a kind musician and tutor named Basil who teaches him how to play the fife and introduces him to books and political philosophy. Basil invites the painfully shy Nathaniel to play music with a student of his:

… A measure of rest and then Basil joined in, his line echoing and following Nathaniel’s, like birds calling to one another: answer me, answer me. This music was an incantation to speak, to express, without having to find the right words, without having to brave eye-to-eye conversation. Even the most shy, the most timid, could take flight – soaring in independent voice, blending together in harmony, then out again in solo. It was a dialogue of sound, of emotions that could remain undefined, and it unlocked something in Nathaniel.

This encapsulates a related magical quality of music: how it can enable all kinds of people, even the most muted among us, to release their voices and bond with others in musical harmony. Making music is an exquisite way to connect with the self and with others. Thanks to Muriel and L.M. for reminding me of this simple but powerful truth that I take for granted as a musician.

Saturday, May 15th

Behold: the Oud

Just when music starts to feel like a “been there, done that” kind of experience, someone or something comes along to wake me up. My latest alarm clock is Clark Salisbury, a talented guitarist and oud player, introduced to me by Clifford Koufman, the drummer and percussionist who has been playing with me for about a year.

Clark is a musician who wears many hats, including an engineer’s cap at North Star Recording, but his main project right now is playing the oud with Brothers of the Baladi, a Middle Eastern band. At my trio’s rehearsal last week, Clark pulled out his new electric oud and suggested that he play it on a few of my songs. Voila! my old material sounds completely fresh to my ears. This illustrates a lesson that I’m forever relearning in music — that there is always something new to bring to music, that you can never exhaust the options that can give music new life and a different twist.

Clark, Clifford and I will be playing at the Jade Lounge on Saturday, May 15th, 6:00 – 7:30 pm. While Clark is still feeling his way in his journey to apply a Middle Eastern sound to western music, I know it’s going to be a treat — for me and for the audience — to hear what he adds to my songs.