In Other Words
We be jammin'
Last night a group of us got together to celebrate a friend’s birthday by belting out three or four hours worth of Beatles’ songs. Everyone brought munchies and drinks and after some happy small-talk, we migrated to the comfy room and gathered ’round. From various corners appeared three guitars, a flute, a violin, a couple of djembe drums, and assorted shakers. Sheet music and lyrics were passed around and without so much as a do-re-mi we were off.
And we were hot! We all said so. Perhaps the wood stove contributed to the warmth but I like to think we’d have been smokin’ without it. We jumped into that Yellow Submarine with both feet! She Loves You, ya, ya, ya! Twist and Shout! Even, hilariously, A Day in the Life! Yeah, we were dreaming, but it was fun. One thing about a Beatles-themed night: everyone has a repertoire of Fab Four favourites.
This wasn’t a random act of musicality, a spontaneous musical flash-mob. We didn’t bump into each other on Main Street and go, “Hey, come on over tonight and we’ll jam!”—our schedules are way too busy to be so spontaneous. These nights are planned and anticipated—like Saturday night dates with the spouse. This event had been in the “we should get together” stage for weeks and it was only when it had a raison d’etre did a date get set.
We squeeze these musical celebrations into our lives as often possible. We had a Christmas sing-along at our house, and in three weeks we’re heading to Prince George for another music night—a trek we make at least twice a year. Whenever Caitlyn puts out the call for a music party we’ll be there, work schedules and road conditions willing. Every summer, Hans flies half way across the country to take part in an annual country jam with a group of (amoung others) music and art therapists. They too find comfort in song.
The songsters involved in these music nights are mostly amateur, just-for-fun types. A hardy few, though, make a living teaching, performing, or facilitating music. These pros are good sports because—at times—our productions may be exquisitely painful to the trained ear. At such gatherings, the technical aspects of singing and playing are mostly incidental; if we don’t know/can’t find/forget the lyrics, lalala-ing and humming are quite acceptable substitutes. If a guitar gets out of tune we just take a break and tune it…or not. If we sing loud enough we probably won’t even notice.
A professional singer or musician strives for technical and creative excellence in order to communicate a feeling, idea or story to an audience. The earned applause gives the performer a sense of acceptance and well-being. As musical participants, as opposed to performers, we share with our group something in addition to the musical content. We engage in a bonding ritual, like a pack of wolves baying at the moon (and yes, at points last night that’s probably what we sounded like). Occasionally, when everything works, we also get a sublime feeling of belonging—or at least forgiveness—for our harmonic tremors.
If by chance some individuals were to play especially well together, they might get together privately and explore their music further. With enough practice, they may go public and cross the line from participant to performer. With enough experience, they might even record the sweet music they make together and share it with a broader audience. Perhaps their score sheets will one day be included in a random group sing-along in some tiny town far, far away.
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