“The reason why the world lacks unity, and lies broken and in heaps, is, because man is disunited with himself.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson.

My parents were both musicians.  Both played piano and organ (in the church).  My mother could read music, and taught all of us kids to do so also.  Whether we learnt or not is up for discussion (does Chopsticks count?).  My father read the unique tonic-solfa version of written music, one that used the ‘doh reh me’ scale, written in letters, and was widely used in Wales.  I learned in later years that unlike traditional written music which sets the key, with tonic solfa you can set it in any key you like. I also learned in later years that it was taught in Ghana also (perhaps by Welsh missionaries?).

They had traveled to Jamaica (with five kids and countless trunks, boxes and suitcases) with a banjo that had belonged to my mother’s uncle.  I don’t think either of them could really play it, but for one of my mother’s birthdays my father bought her a guitar, and she valiantly tried to teach herself to play it.  So did I, but as usual I gave up when I realized how much practice was needed.

The guitar birthday gift was evidence that my father had learned an important life lesson early on in their marriage.  For her first birthday after they got married, he carried (across town, on multiple buses) an ironing board.  This was in the days when they were heavy objects, made of wood.  Her reaction was typical Mum – an outburst: ‘An ironing board? For my birthday? How could you!’  He was perplexed!  He was thinking only of making life easier for her.  It seemed that birthday gifts were never to be practical, they should be something you wanted, not needed.  And so, over the years, he tried to make sure that his gifts were whimsical, unnecessary, and amusing. 

Which meant that one year he bought her a pair of earrings – and when she pointed out that they were for pierced ears (she believed only gypsies pierced their ears!) he told her (always quick with a witty response) he thought they were for Pearce’s dears! (His first name was Pearce).  The joke was on him when he tried to return them.  He had left the price tag on, and had changed the price to be ten times what they actually were, to impress her (you can see how ‘jokify’ he was), and when he took them back to the store he had to explain to the salesman about his ‘joke’. 

He once came home with a melodica as a gift for me.  Prior to that my musical instrument expertise was limited piano playing and the recorder.  But this was fairly fool-proof.  It had a small keyboard (with black and white keys like a piano), and a mouth-piece.  In Jamaica it had been made famous by Augustus Pablo, who covered popular reggae songs with his ‘dub-wise’ versions.  I didn’t do much with it.  It ended up being very useful to my father when he went up to one of his churches which was very small.  I was situated in the ‘kitchen’ of the remnants of a ‘great house’ and had no musical instrument.

As you can see, I have been reminiscing and thinking about music, and its power to cross cultures and touch diverse people.  When we sing together it is impossible to hold on to feelings of hatred or disunity.  I remember the song (that was then taken over by Coca Cola): ‘I’d like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony’ and the image of people stretched out across the planet holding hands.  Over thirty years ago a collection of musicians tried to unite us and raise funds for Africa with the song ‘We are the world’.   

It seems to me that these times call for a new song, a new call for us to look beyond superficial differences to see our commonality.  Something to drown out the divisive misinformation and partisan lens through which we seem to see the world.

The other day I heard a musician say that music is something that crosses all divides.  Any song can be rearranged to be played in a different genre.  And I laughed to myself as I remembered how country music was coopted by Jamaican reggae artists.  Toots sang a wicked version of ‘Country road, take me home…West Jamaica’.  It may not seem like a good fit at first, but when you think of the origin of country music it makes sense.  Poor white country people, with limited musical instruments and limited opportunities sang about their lives and drew from their traditions.  Which is what any group of people do, regardless of skin color, and country of origin.  It was when I heard country music described as ‘white man’s blues’ I began to listen to it with a more sympathetic ear.

On my recent trip to Tennessee I was entertained by a young Jamaican man singing a capella a song with lilting lyrics and a memorable melody – ‘you’re as smooth as Tennessee whiskey, you’re as sweet as strawberry wine’.  Ooooh, Momma!  He had us in the palm of his hand!  But music does that to you, it speaks to your soul, it transports you, it takes you away from your daily routine and endless list of things to do. And with the many sounds of a rich harmony, music has space for many disparate voices coming together as one.

Pete Seeger and other folk musicians understood how uniting music can be.  His aim was always to have the audience singing along.  Harry Belafonte used his voice and songs to unite people in the struggle for civil rights.  Bob Dylan prophesied that the times they were a-changing.  Who will be the 21^st century singing unifier?  Who will lead us all in a good sing-a-long?

This Friday morning I hope a song brings a smile to your face.  I hope you get the opportunity to sing with people you have little in common with, and that something great comes from it.  And if you haven’t heard it before, Google ‘Tennessee whiskey’, it will have you humming through the day!

Have a wonderful weekend, Family!

One Love!

Namaste.