One of the most fascinating things about music is its universality. It’s like an ancient language wired into our DNA, understandable by all.
Walking along Disney Hall in downtown Los Angeles, I was reminded of that when seeing this moment (pictured above). How small we are compared to the grandeur of music, the sound of the mystery of the universe itself. We peak in once in a while, are given a glimpse, a hint of all that we don’t know.
Music has a way of tapping into that grandness, vibrating something deep within us, penetrating right to the core of who we are.
How tragic, then, that so few of us will experience live, acoustic, unamplified music in Disney Hall or any other venue. And a dwindling number of us will experience the depth that comes not from a momentary popular hit, but music that has been sifted through time, survived the rigors of lifetimes of potential irrelevance, and been burnished into greatness, just as a rock is polished into beauty through time and friction.
We need this music. It’s nourishment, essential. And its absence is not bearable for long.