Maybe it's naïve, but I would love to believe that once you grow to love some aspect of a culture — its music, for instance — you can never again think of the people of that culture as less than yourself. I would like to believe that if I am deeply moved by a song originating from some place other than my own hometown, then I have in some way shared an experience with the people of that culture. I have been pleasantly contaminated. I can identify in some small way with it and its people. Not that I will ever experience music exactly the same way as those who make it. I am not Hank Williams, or even Hank Jr., but I can still love his music and be moved by it. Doesn't mean I have to live like him. Or take as many drugs as he did, or, for that matter, as much as the great flamenco singer Cameron de la Isla did.
That's what art does; it communicates the vibe, the feeling, the attitude toward our lives, in a way that is personal and universal at the same time. And we don't have to go through all the personal torment that the artist went through to get it. I would like to think that if you love a piece of music, how can you help but love, or at least respect, the producers of it? On the other hand, I know plenty of racists who love "soul" music, rap and rhthym-and-blues, so dream on, Dave.
While reading this article, I thought about a piece of music I heard while in (ironically enough) a world music class in undergrad. It was a recording from a post office in Ghana. In the village the post office was located in, the local dialect had no word for 'music' because it was such an engrained part of their culture. People went about their daily business in rhythmic, musical ways. I wasn't able to find the exact piece I listened to in class, but this youtube video was pretty close: video
No comments:
Post a Comment