“Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent.” ~ Victor Hugo.

Music has been a part of my life, probably since conception.  When you grow up in the church, hymn singing is always going to be present, but in my family, we didn’t just listen to religious music.  My parents had an eclectic selection of albums (LPs as we used to call them) which accompanied us on our first trip from the UK to Jamaica when I was a child.  There was jazz; Broadway musicals; Welsh male voice choirs; South African Freedom Songs; Spirituals and way more.  And of course, once we were settled in Jamaica, Calypso and Ska were added.

It was not just that we listened to music, we also sang, especially on road trips.  This may have been done as a distraction, a way of entertaining a family of seven on a trip which could have taken four hours or more when we went to Wales for our summer vacation.  I have no idea the origin of some of the songs, one involved ‘…butter, butter, floating down the gutter…’ and mentioned a quartermaster’s store, so it must have been an army song I imagine.  There was one song that I (the youngest) was in charge of, having learned it in school, and it required full participation (with hand and foot action) of all except the driver.  I should say that I required full participation, being quite demanding at the time!

Some songs, as we all know, can be quite evocative, taking us back not only to a place and time in our lives, but even a feeling.  We can hear a melody and remember a feeling of distress, as we may associate it with an event that leaves us unsettled.  There is a jazz song that does that to me.  I can’t even tell you which song performed by Sarah Vaughan and Billy Eckstine it is, but when I hear it I am back in the Jamaican countryside, the night filled with strange insect sounds, and I am aware of the discomfort of my mother.  She was the one person in our family who seemed the most challenged to adapt to the culture, the expectations, the daily routine of life, and I must have picked up on that.  I suppose only a minister’s wife can relate to the demands of that unpaid role, one where you are scrutinized as much as your husband, and have to immediately step into the many jobs she had to fulfill, along with the whole family relocation stresses. Those of us who have migrated at any time in our life can relate to the culture shock of those first months.

Composers of music are also special people, and they can trap their own emotions in the song, both the tune and the lyrics.  At this time of year in the Christian church we have the stark contrast of the mournful, bereaved hymns associated with the crucifixion.  Hymns are set in a minor key, setting the tone for the weight, the burden of the cross.  There is an anthem that is particularly evocative for me, another of my father’s favorites, because the imagery would take me back to the Wales of my childhood visits, a green and hilly rural community, where sheep dot the landscape. ‘All in the April evening’ is most definitely set in a minor key, and the author relates seeing the sheep with their lambs ‘up in the dewy pastures’ to the green hill of Calvary.  This is another song which hits me emotionally, and ties me to my father, to his ancestral land and his Christian faith in every note.

I recently watched an episode of one of Henry ‘Skip’ Gates’ great series, ‘Gospel’, which tells the story of the origin of the Gospel genre of music.  Its early origins are of course in the Southern Black churches brought up North with the great migration to the cities.  It had early roots in the Spirituals that were used to motivate and carry secret messages to those enslaved Africans and guide them in their escape on the Underground Railroad.  The Gospel genre also contained messages of hope and transcendence, but it took a while for the church to get behind it.  The music was a little too reminiscent of the ‘devil music’, the secular sounds and rhythms of Saturday night, transformed into Christian messages of love and faith. 

One of the major composers of gospel music was Thomas Dorsey, a son of a preacher who had started out in the clubs playing the blues.  After he returned to the church, he became a prolific composer.  One of those hymns ‘Take my hand, precious Lord’ was written after the death in childbirth of his wife and son.  So, a personal tragedy was the source of a song which I am sure has comforted countless Christians over the years.

This month, as women are being celebrated, I have also had the pleasure of reading of many women (of diverse backgrounds and ethnicities) who were associated with the Folk music genre.  Thanks to a Pete Seeger page on social media, I have learned about many women and their music, and most of all their activism.  Folk music has been used in this country to support and address social, cultural and racial inequities for over a hundred years.  Folk songs were used to unite and inspire those who fought against racial injustice.  Folk singers stood alongside those fighting for civil rights.  The songs not only memorialized the struggle, they also brought people together, helping to strengthen resolve and bring about change.

This Good Friday morning I am reflecting on those creative artists who have managed to turn their life experiences into a song that others can relate to and be comforted by.  I am inspired by those who can put words to music that can be sung by choirs around the world.  I am encouraged that there are those who can capture some of society’s harshest times to create a living history.  I am hopeful that we can continue to join our diverse voices in song, and teach the world to sing ‘…in perfect harmony…’. 

Have a wonderful weekend, Family! And may you find a joyful song to sing!

One Love!

Namaste.