In Which I Finally Understand..

Yesterday, in the stupor of pinched nerves in my neck and medication, I watched a piece from a documentary with Jeff. It was Paul Simon's Graceland Journey: Under the African Skies.

For a bit of background...I am a child of the 80's. I grew up rocking to the sounds of Def Leppard, Loverboy, and Van Halen with a calming dose of Chicago, Journey, and Phil Collins thrown in. I listened to that which was popular and had a good beat. Often I would have entire lyrics memorized with absolutely no thought to what was really being said or implied.

My only connection to Paul Simon was hearing his name as a musician at some point in my life and recently Jeff had gotten a book which contained all the lyrics Simon had written. Jeff devoured it, as a book of poetry. I so didn't get it. Why read the lyrics? After all, I was pretty sure—though I hadn't checked the spreadsheet—that Jeff owned much of Paul Simon's music. Why not just listen?

“It's poetry,” he said. Still, I didn't get it.

So, when he asked me to watch a particular section of the documentary, I was probably less than thrilled but in too much of a pain induced stupor to protest much.

Apparently (for anyone as ignorant as I was—and this is an extremely simplified synopsis), Graceland was an album that Paul Simon put together in the mid-80s.

He used music and musicians from South Africa, which was at the time knee deep in apartheid. He brought a particular group, Lady Smith Black Mambazo to New York from South Africa.

The clip was two members of Lady Smith Black Mambazo talking about a particular song that they recorded with Paul Simon. As I watched these two men tell of their desire to get the song just right, practicing many hours and praying for guidance, I began to realize that much, much more was happening than just music being made.

This group of Africans were experiencing freedoms that most in their home country could simply not fathom. They were bonding with a white man, to the point of actually calling him “brother” because of music. Their common language. It transcended the parts and created a beautiful, enduring whole. And all of that came through in the music they created.

I saw the beautiful spirits that these two men possessed as they told their stories. But, something else happened. I “got” my husband a little bit.

You see, I knew that his idea of hearing music and of what music means is totally different than most people. Most people are like me. They listen to that which is popular and has a good beat. We are very individualistic consumers of tunes. Very few of us stop to think about music and to really listen to how it is put together and what the lyrics actually say. Music, for most, is background noise, a cheap commodity that changes as quickly as Lady Gaga changes her outfits.

But as I watched his eyes tear up, I kind of got it. I know that I'll never hear music the way he does. He hears the intricacies of the music, the thoughtfulness (or lack thereof) in the lyrics. He understands the difference between “fun” music and music with purpose—and gets that there is a time for both.

Within all of that, he also hears the stories. He hears the history, the people, the gift. He hears it in popular music, classical music, hymns, and worship music. Because he hears music the way that he does, his gift shines through.

He can help others hear music the way that he does. He can help them know the stories. He can help them be more than consumers.

Music is, or at least should be, more than a quick listen. Good music, that is. Music is to Jeff what food is to a hard-core foodie. Life is simply too short to gorge on popular, largely nutrition lacking food. Life is simply too short to fill our ears solely with that which is popular, with no thought to what we are actually hearing.

The lyrics and the music in the Paul Simon/Lady Smith Black Mambaza song worked in perfect harmony. To have had one without the other would have resulted in something less than. And to take one and put it in a different context would have resulted in losing the story, the history—the very message the song was created for.

Music is a creation. It is a creation in some small way reflective of our Creator. Those who can create music have a unique and special gift. Those who can listen to the creation with ears that hear the entirety have a different, but equally special gift. Those who can do both—are rare, I think.

They are the ones who teach the rest of us.