musical morning after

I remember back in 1980 when I was doing the student abroad thing in England, encountering for the first time a musical pop culture which completely set me back on my heels. It was a double whammy for me, because I had just left behind whatever drivel oozed from American radio -- the imminently forget-able 70s. And found myself dropped jet-lagged and witless in front of late night with John Peel. I had never heard of punk, much less reggae. And who could have imagined fusing them together? I would be lying if I said I immediately liked or understood it. It was an acquired taste, which soon became a delight.

Simultaneously, I was introduced to the English folk and folk-rock scene; new to me, but in the throes then of yet another revival. This was, of course, love at first hearing. "Fusion" seemed to be the word of the day, then. I learned about Celtic folk-jazz, militant Welsh nationalist punks, Japanese and German techno machine heads --  on and on. I returned to the States with a fistful of 45s (?!)

Was this good? I thought so. Was it art? Probably, but at the time I remember thinking that it was more culture. And before that exposure I had never thought of music as a medium of communication. A no-brainer, you're thinking now. But I was young and ignorant*, and I saw for the first time the emotive energy of music on a cultural level; from the earnest traditionalism of 'Four Green Fields' in the pub, to the incoherent thunder of the Red-Hot Lemon Boys in a Brighton dance-hall. Whatever the intention, it communicated. The debate will always rage on; does it have to communicate, much less entertain, to be art?** either way, some kind of a reaction was irresistible.

Now, thirty years later, I think that things are possible with music that are not possible with any other thing that we do. Our tribal nature is so strong; there are an impossible number of ways in which we can persist in hating and distrusting our human kindred. As we collect in enclaves of belief in defense against those "others", we draw national and political boundaries, feed our gods on stiff-necked dogma, and dig in our heels against any contrary voices.

But music is a thread of commonality that few of our species can resist, and I would say that any way we can get the most set-jawed, fingers-in-the-ears stalwart amongst us to at least give a listen to a (metaphorically speaking) piobaireachd exposed to heavy radiation and played on a C harmonica***, it would be a first step toward peace in the Middle East. And I have listened to the American 'Attack! Attack!'+

And Tuvan throat singing is amazing.

Maybe some reggae, too.

*different from old and ignorant... slightly
**and is it art for the audience, or art for the artist?
**Willa really hates harmonica
+ hate the vocals; the band is okay; the Welsh one is better, but I'm old-fashioned