Among all that has changed over the past year, there is one I am truly loving, strange as it might be at times. I love music. I remember a gift of a then cutting edge transistor radio and wow! Music on the go. I discovered all kinds of music - as well as the unfortunately often atonal sounds of the world at large.
Eventually life interfered with the music as demands on time increased; no time to tune in, no time to fiddle with channels, and soon I found that my drive time was my music time. Sad, but something needed to change and that was the music.
Years later, in retirement, a miracle! Some chick living in a device was able to converse with me and heed my requests for music. Even as I raced around, relatively speaking, music was once again firmly implanted in my personal firmament. And I loved it.
My world expanded into new music. No, not noise, but African rhythms, Native American tones, Hebrew music, including the vibrant Israeli branch. And opera, music that I had loved but had never found the time to delve deeply into its substance. Now I could even ask for suggestions from the new resident in my home. And hence, the frustration.
Folks, that Alexa is the most annoying creature ever. Particularly when she insists on playing the incorrect song or worse, when you find yourself actually yelling at a non existent whatever! Our own version of Hal, the computer of 2001.
Then we remember that along with the new, the gifts of advancement, there will always be glitches, frustrations and the ever heavier burdens of caring for a world that we had abused and continue to do so. There is no quixotic Alexa to call upon. There is no magical lady to delve into the past for better solutions for the future. No. There is only us, a paradoxically shrinking world even as its problems expand exponentially. As for the beat, well, its rhythm is off, often grating on the ear, intrusive and jarring, rather than calming, and we have too often forgotten the beauty in the music of harmony.
There are those in the world who believe that the music is meant only for them. That the wondrous sounds of Bach or Copeland, of the Boss or Pavarotti, of Broadway and of the street, are to be limited, restricted. But when there is no music, when there is no harmony, when there is never a mindful jarring note, or the remembrance of the past or a look into the future, well, there is no longer a beat that will continue on.
At that point life and the world turn grey. Not the calming tones but rather the depressives hues of grey. We then have caricature leaders who are out of beat with the people but who insist on their bizarre music. They run off on vacation even as their constituents are suffering greatly. They consistently look out for themselves alone. They push the poisons of hate and negativity and continue on their journey, determined to undermine our very foundations. The harsh, ear splitting tones of theirs attempt to overpower the more harmonious ones and unfortunately often, too often, manage to break through. Much to our detriment.
We must try to better synchronize our music. It can make demands. It can inspire and remind. It can send us soaring to the heights even as other notes remind us of needs unmet.
The beat must go on, even with the somewhat irritative tics of Alexa. The efforts must continue and new music must be written, challenging and meshing with the old. Music is a necessity and a gift. And now, off to argue with that stubborn woman who has now unilaterally insisted on segueing to a different category of music.
Ahhh. The music of life. Ain't it great.
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