Musical Autobiography

Prior to my final semester as an undergraduate music major in voice performance, my contact and experience with music outside of Western Culture was, I’ll go out on a limb here, probably only about as frequent as most Americans would have.  Apart from the occasional movie or National Geographic documentary, it simply wasn’t around me.  I was never compelled to seek it out, as I was and continue to discover variations of music on Western Culture.  It was something that was beyond me; not meant for me; was not me.  Before I took the class (known as “Music of the World’s People”) for the first time, the only characteristic I was fully aware of in non-Western music was the use of microtones.  It seemed a rather odd concept, but I accepted it.  I knew that all of the many, many societies on Earth were different and held unique characteristics in their music, but this concept was beyond what I had imagined.  As I stated today in class, what has stuck with me the most from the class is the idea that a melodic line in a particular mode (for what I’m sure are obvious reasons, I mean major and minor) can conjure up completely different – in fact, opposite – emotions from one culture to another.  What sounds like the most tragic of funerals to us represents the most happy and joyous of occasions to other cultures, and vice versa.  I was blindsided.  Another simple but significant fact is that what one society views as ugly another views as beautiful and desirable.

It ended up being one of the most enjoyable music classes that I have yet taken.  The material was intriguing and the professor was absolutely terrific.  One day that I will always remember will be the day the class held a jam session playing music from a particular African country (I do not recall exactly which one) on authentic instruments (the professor’s office was filled with ethnic musical instruments from all over the world; some hanging on the wall, others on the floor either off to the side or in one of the room’s corners).  I played a percussion instrument similar to a maraca; I held my opposite hand above my knee and beat a pattern of six, starting on my knee and alternating between it and my hand.  The professor also enjoyed playing recordings of the music being taught, and was not the least bit afraid to give it healthy amounts of volume.  Professors in other classrooms of the building  (it was not in the music building) had complained numerous times several years in a row that the music was too loud, but it seemed nothing more than a matter of brushing dust off of the shoulders to my professor; a fact I found humorous.  I’m excited to be able to reacquaint myself with the material this semester!