Music Trumps Politics and Ideology, Every Time

When I was making my feeble attempt to learn German, I bought a book of poetry, in German, at a used bookstore. Something the editor wrote (in English) in his introduction has stuck with me ever since.

I don't remember the exact wording, but the gist was: Poetry is best enjoyed when it is not fully understood. I took this to mean that, when you leave certain things to your imagination, when you don't look for exact meaning, but take some time to just revel in the beauty of language, even if you don't understand every word, and if you can get some idea of the sentiment it is trying to express, you are getting a fuller appreciation of a poem than you would if you assiduously tried to assign a certain meaning to every word, every line, every verse.

It's the same, I think, with music. Music is man's attempt to express what is ineffable, what can't necessarily be expressed in a simple explanation, as careful as you might be in trying to choose the right words. It communicates on a deeper level than we can reach with reason or logic.

I thought about this while watching, for the umpteenth time, the video above, which was recorded in the Old City of Jerusalem. If you wander through the Old City, you realize that, besides those who are dressed according to the dictates of their faith -- Orthodox Jews, for example, with wide-brimmed black hats, or Muslim women in burkas -- it's not always easy to tell, at a glance, who is an Arab, who is Jewish, who is Christian, who is Muslim. (Tourists like myself, of course, are easy to identify).

When I watched this video today, again, for the umpteenth time, I focused on the young boy who seems to be taking such joy in the music. Is he Arab? Is he Jewish? Who knows? Who cares? He's caught up in the music, and it's a joy to watch him be carried away by it. My guess is that, whatever his ethnicity or faith, he didn't care much whether the musicians were Jewish, or Muslim, or Christian, or Druze, or completely secular. He was experiencing the pleasure of watching and listening to people create something that took them beyond themselves; creating rather than destroying. The recognition of that creative force is embedded in all of us, I think, deep in our souls.

I'm certainly not proposing an easy, utopian solution to intractable problems. Politics matter; ideology matters. People die, and are oppressed, and suffer every day because of such things. I know exactly how I feel about those who subscribe to wrong-headed and misbegotten ideologies, and those who believe that their political stances represent truth with a capital "T". But music, poetry, and art are capable of taking us outside the human realm and into the Divine. It's a realm we all live in, and maybe we don't take the time to recognize or acknowledge it.

Mark Helprin once wrote, "The greatest substance of the world is immaterial, the province of the heart, and its study cannot be forced or reasoned. Merely to touch upon the edge of things in praising their mechanics is to forswear their fullness, for the entry to this fullness lies not in science but in art. I cannot prove this, for it cannot be proven, but I claim, assert, and have seen it." I have seen it, and my guess is that we all can see it too, if we look and listen carefully enough. I've said it before, and while I can't prove it, because it can't be proven, I claim it and assert it: Music trumps politics and ideology every time, because it has a unique ability to touch our hearts. Thank God for that.

Top Hat

Sunday afternoons in summer are now time for old movies with my mom. Last Sunday was Singing in the Rain; this afternoon was Top Hat. The plots, of course, are not the point. It's the amazing, effortless dancing. In the case of Top Hat, Astaire and Rogers (and Fred Astaire never got credit for being such a great singer as well). And, of course, the genius of Irving Berlin. It is being delighted by the ability of human beings to move together with such grace and control, and seeing my mom delighted as well. I looked up reviews of the movie, and found this from the late Roger Ebert:

Because we are human, because we are bound by gravity and the limitations of our bodies, because we live in a world where the news is often bad and the prospects disturbing, there is a need for another world somewhere, a world where Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers live. Where everyone is a millionaire and hotel suites are the size of ballrooms and everything is creased, combed, brushed, shined, polished, powdered and expensive. Where you seem to find the happiness you seek, when you're out together dancing cheek to cheek. It doesn't even matter if you really find it, as long as you seem to find it, because appearances are everything in this world, and ... 

Let the rain pitter patterBut it really doesn't matterIf the skies are gray.Long as I can be with you,It's a lovely day.

Beautifully said. As the late Dick Buckley used to say about this time on Sunday afternoons at the end of his show on WBEZ, "Happiness."

Flying Home

On Friday, after the kids and I took my father to the airport for his flight back home, I felt a bit at sea. During his visit, I had taken him to most of the places I frequent in Evanston. I walked downtown after dropping him off at the airport and the kids at our apartment, and passed many of those same places. I returned some books to the library, then went across the street to an Irish pub, a place I like to go and have a sandwich and a drink sometimes on a Saturday afternoon.

We had been at the same place just a week prior, and I already felt his absence. My father has this gift. He can talk to anyone, at any time, and actually listen, and be curious about their life, their experience; he has the gift of talking, and listening. It's one of the things I've learned from him, and a quality I hope to cultivate in myself.

Walking back home after the library and lunch, I noted that it was about time for his flight to be leaving. I thought I might catch a glimpse of his plane heading out over the lake. But the traffic patterns at O'Hare weren't in my favor. Planes were coming in from the east to land, and taking off from the west.

Then, walking down the alley towards home after a quick stop at Trader Joe's, I heard the familiar whine of what I knew was a big plane -- an A330 or A340, or a 777, or a 747. And, sure enough, I looked up, and there, already at a fairly high altitude, but unmistakable, was a big Swiss airlines Airbus A330 -- the red rudder with the white cross on the back, bound for Zurich. Though of course he couldn't see me, I paused and waved, and wished the travelers, including my father, a safe passage.

Hours later, I went on the flight tracker website and saw that his flight was just about 15 minutes away from Zurich. Silas and I watched its descent, and confirmed that it had arrived. We were in Evanston, and he in Switzerland, but it made us feel in some way that we had accompanied him on his trip.

Our world may be confusing, and disturbing. There is no shortage of cruelty and pettiness. Technology certainly cuts both ways. Reason is scarce in our public discourse. Sometimes chance or circumstance puts us in the right place at the right time, sometimes in the wrong place at the wrong time (apologies to Dr. John). But days like that remind me that the world is also lovely and mysterious in ways we can't imagine, and may not fully understand until we meet the One who made it.

Father's Day

My father and I have certainly had our disagreements, and really haven’t gotten to know each other well until late in life. He has his foibles, as we all have.

But, as he visits the U.S. on what could likely be his last trip here, I think of all I have learned from him in the past few years since we have gotten closer. For instance: the value of hard work. That nothing comes from nothing, that so many of the things we enjoy are the fruits of others’ labors. That there is beauty in this world which, even at our lowest moments, we can see, if we only look around to recognize it. Never to give up. That there is always something to learn in every situation. To be firm, and resolute, and blunt, but to always try to remember to be kind.

So those are my words to my father, Mr K F Kuner, on this Father’s Day. I love you, Papa. Now, let’s go have dinner.