Music: Personally Listening

Music is such a personal thing. I think sometimes when we listen we make judgments about ourselves and other who like or dislike the songs and singers we like or dislike. I have a friend who really likes Tupac (now deceased) the rapper. I mentally vomit at the crass called rap, but to others they hear rhyme and rhythm, righteous indignation and social commentary. The crass language and crashing beat of rap moves them, like it does my friend. I keep him as my friend because our friendship is rich and supportive, stimulating and compassionate. We just don’t listen to his Tupac together. I'm not sure if he'd enjoy Cat Stevens as much as I do, or whether he'd just fall asleep.

Sometimes we should listen to each other’s music and listen beyond or behind the beat that jars our senses, or the words either too bitterly profane or too saccharine sweet for our tastes.

For a number of years (before my son turned 18 and could no longer pursue the Eagle rank) I was involved with the Boy Scouts. My son was a Life Scout, and I was an Assistant Scoutmaster. There was this one boy, Evan, who would always seek me out just to talk—any campout or troop meeting—and eventually he’d always mention the music he loved, or a song he’d just memorized. And he’d sing me snatches of lyrics that sometimes I’d raise my eyebrows at. But I think he really knew how much I liked him anyway. We’d laugh, joke around and I would be tolerant of hearing about music I’d never want to hear by myself. He even burned me a Blink 182 CD because he cared so much.

I could never quite understand his persistence to persuade me into liking his style of music, but I think he thought if I learned to like it I’d like him even more. Such is the power of music to sway us.