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Do you know why in our hearts we all dance to "Bolero"? Each of us have a rhythm inside, our own "Bolero". Our beats determine our paths, lead our feet where they need to be. We are composed of rhythm-our internal workings hum along, in pattern, a percussion section of parts that feed off each other and come together to keep us alive and vibrant. Our hearts and bodies are naturally attuned to rhythms, maybe even all the rhythms of the universe. One of the most profound expressions of this connection is dance. Music, rhythm, and dance are completely intertwined; they each lead to the other. As far back as we go as a species, we have made music, probably starting with mimicking our own heartbeats. And we have expressed our emotional attachments to that music with all manner of dance. There isn't much difference between a wild tribal dance around a bonfire and a circle pit at a metal concert. They are equally entrancing, captivating.
What is it about certain kinds of music that move us so? It's such a personal matter, music. We are passionate about what we love, and sometimes can't understand why another person doesn't respond as deeply as we do about our favorite songs or styles. There are certain known chord progressions that move a vast majority of people, hence sell-out concerts and pop music. In our primitive cores, I'm sure there is a shared consciousness that is based on those chords, those beats. And in response to this love, we are compelled to move our bodies, to connect and unite with our fellow tribesmen and women for one more spin around the campfire.
As a musician, I can recognize talent, even if I am not fond of the musical style. I love listening to a stellar guitarist, a mighty drummer, a righteous bassist, a powerful vocalist in perfect pitch. If these components are not all together, I can sometimes dissect the song just to single out the outstanding musician, provided the song is not too horrid. It is, however, far easier to enjoy great musicians when they are all playing together, and the song is just right, and I can feel stirrings behind my eyes, just before the tears well up, feel the tightness in my throat, the surge in my own heart because I am touched inside, moved beyond words by the music. It makes me want to create, to duplicate that sound, to alter it to fit into my own ever-growing and changing personal playing style. I'm remarkably good at picking out what I love from a multitude of songs and blending them all together in a new composition of my own. It's not quite sampling, though the idea isn't far off. I have taken Blues riffs from Mali and put them with Middle Eastern notes and trills, and thrown in bits of Irish folk music and Appalachian dirges, then dropped in some Mongolian starkness with a hint of Russian traditional sounds. Whatever moves me, I want to hear myself play it. I want to put it together, compose, conduct my own symphony in my head. I want to share it with other musicians, want to hear what the drumbeats would sound like, want to hear words being sung by a sweet nasally voice with incredible range, want to lay down a driving bass line that thrums in the chest. Oh, to be the leader of such a band! A musician's dream, indeed.
Even without the benefit of musical talent, most people appreciate it. Most want to be inspired to grab the hairbrush and sing into it, to swing their arms wildly in imitation of the guitarist's windmill, to pound on the kitchen table and clap their hands in time to some amazing song. Radio is still popular after all these years because of that need to hear favorite songs again and again. We have recorded them on vinyl, eight track and cassette tapes, and cds, and now we put them on mp3 players and IPods, all in the pursuit of taking our music with us wherever we may go. Our playlists are reflections of our true selves, our life stories, our passions, our hearts. We all have a soundtrack, one that is incredibly important to our identities. To share our music with another is to share our souls, the deepest parts of who we are.
In private moments, I dance freely, and sing loudly. I enjoy such things immensely, though do not feel the need to do this in front of others, except in wonderful moments of perfect drunkenness, when all inhibitions are thrown to the winds. I am a clumsy sort, so dancing has never been a skill I have mastered, but singing is something I've taken a shine to for several years now. I quit the dreaded cigarettes, you see, and have found my voice again. I was always a decent, middle of the pack singer, never terrible, never amazing. But cigarettes stole my tone and range over the years, and the lung power I need to go beyond my comfortable notes, especially the higher ones. When I started practicing again, I worked hard to get those upper notes, went through scales over and over to get out of my normal alto range. I will never be a soprano, and that's fine by me. Altos are way more cool, anyway. I started singing while I walked, to build lung capacity and stamina. More recently, I have been delving into the tenor and bass notes, trying to get as low as I possibly can. It is as difficult as the high notes, really.
A couple of weeks ago, I was sitting at my kitchen table, my usual spot, doing the daily puzzles in the newspaper and sipping coffee. I started to hum, in deep, low tones. I worked my way as far down as I could, and hit upon something so spiritual, I no longer could recognize my own voice, no longer felt as if it was my voice coming out of me. I closed my eyes and let it move me of its own accord. I went through an unbelievable range of notes-from the lowest first, and spiraling to previously unknown highs that were never in my range before, then dropping back down and jumping back up, all on pitch, all in one breath, all with this surreal vibrato, a warble I've never had. I could hear it, my head filled with the music, my body swayed to it. The song got increasingly complex, the voice sounding like multiple instruments played together. My arms came up and started to conduct, to direct the voice to even more complicated arrangements. I was lost, totally whisked away in this current of cosmic music from outside and inside myself.
I don't know how long I did this. When I drifted back down to me, the coffee was ice cold. I was breathing heavily and felt utterly spent, but in a good way, like a post-good sex kind of way. I was trembling on the inside, every muscle like a guitar string just strummed. The power of music. The magic of it. It came to me freely, and changed me yet again.
Conductors are we-leading the orchestras inside, making music come alive. We walk our chosen paths to our chosen tunes, tell all the sections that make us whole when to play and when to rest, when to get loud and when to soften up, when to repeat, and when to turn the page. The symmetry of music is what draws us in, a natural flow, a natural pattern.
And in my world, that pattern is captured in "Bolero". So, if you see me dancing down the street with my arms waving about and my head swaying to and fro, you will know what is playing on my mp3, and you will know you should not interrupt, for I am far away, conducting my universe, guiding it to where it needs to be, and taking us all through the key change.
Please conduct yourself a happy, won't you?
Your fellow maestro,
Tanya Y. Waschak
