It’s Sunday afternoon, which means I’m settling into my home office, preparing to work until I fall asleep. But not yet. I’m not ready. I have something that I need to express to myself, which, perhaps, you may find interesting. If you don’t, feel free to skip to the end, where there’s a video from The Muppet Show.

I am not a formally trained musician. Sure, I had some piano and saxophone lessons in school, but I’ve spent little time in a classroom being Taught Music. I’ve never specifically studied different musical eras or (until the past year) music from other countries. I just started playing one day and I haven’t stopped.

But I hesitate to say that I’m self-taught. That would be arrogant and dismissive of all of the people I’ve played with and learned from. I can tell you exactly what music was important to me at any point in my life and, as well, I can tell you who was helping me learn.

Playing. Listening. Practicing. Performing. Do enough of that with the right people and you’ll eventually be able to fake it. If my musical journey was a series of metaphorical cab rides, I could tell you exactly who was driving (and what they were playing on the radio).

This weekend started somewhere unexpected: at the Opera. One of my recent “cab drivers” was singing in the Apollo’s Fire production of The Magic Flute at Severance Hall. For someone that’s given me a world of opportunities to expand my breadth of musical taste and appreciation, I decided that I could show her some support. So, Friday evening found my wife and I dropping off the kids and heading downtown. And, perhaps unexpectedly, I enjoyed it. Was the entire story relatable to me? No. Were some of the lyrics unintelligible? Sure. Did some of the vocal gymnastics seem a bit much? Yes. Did any of that matter? Not in the slightest. From the opening chord of the overture, I was swept away. Being there, listening to a top-notch period orchestra with singers that are obviously at the top of their game make music together was enough.

I don’t think I’ll be buying season passes for the Opera season anytime soon, but it was enjoyable and to see my friend with a stageful of other talented singers and musicians was amazing.

Saturday's soundtrack jumped forward a hundred and seventy years–My family threw a surprise sixties-themed party for my mom. My aunt asked if I could gather some appropriate songs to lead on guitar and I spent the week narrowing down a list to six or seven good sing-a-longs from the era. Then, the party started. We sang before dinner and then again after dinner. What started as six or seven songs turned into more like fourteen or fifteen as the requests kept coming in. We sang The Beatles and The Drifters, Lesley Gore and Neil Diamond, Save the Last Dance and Blowing in the Wind. I play guitar all the time and yet, by the end, my fingertips were still torn. Afterwards, everyone thanked me and I was unable to explain that singing with me was thanks enough. Participation is one of my greatest musical affirmations.

Aside: You know how when a band plays one of their hits live, they’ll get to the chorus and stop, and the singer invites the crowd to sing along? That. That is one of those fleeting moments that I pursue like junkie after a fix.

Nearly all of my Sunday mornings are musical; I play guitar at a unique church service, called Alive360, that focuses on music from all over the world and how the messages from other countries are relevant to us. I also direct the handbell choir at my church, which means that once a month I get to direct the bell choir AND play at Alive360. Today was an extra special Sunday in that the handbell choir was playing at the Alive360 service itself. This is nice for me, because it means that I don’t have to attend three different church services, but especially because it lends itself to creative ideas by combining the talents of two remarkable groups of musicians.

Handbell choirs are traditionally a passive musical experience and rarely is the audience invited to participate. On days like today, I like to break away from that notion. The opening song was from the Carribean, with a reggae beat that the Alive360 band plays on a regular basis. But I wanted to make sure we didn’t waste the opportunity to use our additional instrumentation, so I arranged the chinky, syncopated reggae rhythm for the high treble bells and the rest of the players played off the piano arrangement. And… Presto! Reggae with handbells! Which sounded much better than you’re imagining right now.

After that, we played a version of Blessed Assurance that’s arranged as a medley with Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring. It’s beautiful, but whenever we practice it, I feel compelled to sing along with the chorus. Today I let this compulsion run wild and invited the congregation to sing the chorus and I had the band join in as well. As the song built toward its climax, I could hear humming from the congregation as people prepared to sing. Beautiful. Too often we keep our voices restrained and this was a wonderful moment with permission to let go.

Lastly, the handbells played an arrangement of Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen, which has a part written for clarinet. I don’t have a clarinetist at my immediate disposal, so I asked another friend (and former “cab driver”) to accompany on French Horn. The sound of the horn blended beautifully with the mournful tone of the song. When it ended, there wasn’t a sound, as everyone in the congregation held their breath.

There were other songs too (like the South African prayer song, Thuma Mina, which, once you heard it with them, you’d wonder why you’d ever want to hear it without handbells), but that’s more than enough for illustrative purposes. 

All of the music from this weekend has left me elated and satisfied. I’ve detailed it here, hoping that, in doing so, I could convey a small sense of the power and importance that music has in my life. I hear beauty in almost every song I hear. I have been moved to tears by a children’s folk song and by bad pop music. For me music… transcends.

While I was gathering songs for the party, I came across one that I’d never heard before, called I Believe in Music, by Mac Davis. It was the wrong vintage and feel for the party, but the lyrics could stand as my own personal statement of faith. I’m going to leave things here with a video of Mac performing this song with the Muppets, which, incredibly, adds an extra degree of sincerity to a song that walks right up to the line of being cheesy and sticks a toe over it.