The Language of Music

Music has always been a good friend of mine. It has a heart of its own, that can be heard with each beat of a melody. I was introduced to this language by my loving mother, who enforced that we would speak in the dialect of voice, piano, and eventually another instrument of our choice. My home had a constant song, where at any given moment, other voices would add their parts to the chorus. Our melodies were repetitions of other’s expressions of song, but we still partook in the language of music.

I had a special gift of getting tunes stuck in my siblings’ heads. I guess my words have an impact when spoken through song. Whether or not I had been the culprit, I would always be the accused when someone didn’t know why they were singing a particular tune to themselves. This gift transferred to whatever dialect I decided to speak in. Whether it be piano, voice, or my choice of percussion instrument of the day, my melodies could be heard echoed by someone down a distant hallway.

In high school, I decided to branch out who I spoke this language with. I joined the marching band, where I interacted with many different dialects of the same language. You can learn a lot about a person by what instrument they choose to speak through. How confident are they? How loud are they? How much do they like others? Whatever instrument of choice, there is a bond immediately formed when you learn that someone speaks the same language or dialect that you do.

In college, I found another way to interact with music. Instead of echoing the melodic conversations of the past through instruments or your voice, you could feel and move with the beat. I found this in my first dance class, which was tap. Funnily enough, I found that my hands couldn’t surrender their habits, and would move as one unit with my feet. It looked funky, and I often got points docked off my quizzes, but my hands refused to give in. They were reminding me that dance is related to song. Though not related by blood, they are eternal partners. One cannot dance without music, and the observers of this language find it hard to listen to music and not dance. There is beauty seen in couples swaying to the soft chatter of jazz or hustling about the floor for quickstep. The waltz’s champions are observed to have great grace, and effortlessly keep on top of the lolling 3-4 tempo. Regardless of the style chosen, this marriage of languages is a delight to see! But perhaps, the best delight is to see the happy faces of those who get to witness these feats of expression. They take time out of their busy schedules to go and dance. They seek out others who have the same desires, and form communities around it.

Though my dancing is lacking, I try to play with the music. I feel the rhythm of music’s heart and stay on top of it. I sing songs of distant, and not so distant melodies, while trying to add my own voice to the vocabulary of musical history. Though my speech is inexperienced, and sounds like the babbling of a toddler, I know that with time my creations may reflect those of great musicians of the past. I try to keep my friendship with song alive and seek out others who speak my language. I hope that my music skills never get rusty, like that of any other language not used enough. If it does, I guess that I’ll just have to find someone to practice it with.