Can Music Soothe Our Souls?

In 2008, Leonard Cohen, the poet and songster, then 73, opened his set in London this way:”We’re so privileged to gather in moments like this when so much of this world is plunged with darkness and chaos.”

Cohen always knew.

While we’ve now gone through several phases, changes and moods during our period of darkness and chaos, one of my constant refrains is how vital music is to soothe our souls and how remarkable the music makers are to hit the right chord.

I began putting links of songs that reflected my thoughts and feelings at the end of my own musings. Sometimes, I’d hear the tune in my head and that set the inspiration for the theme of the day.

Somehow, more lately, when lyric meets melody and voice, in my ear or in my head, I well up. It stops me cold on a run or blocks out the noise on TV or accompanies me when I’m having a rough spell. It doesn’t matter whether it’s the Grateful Dead pumping out, “We will get by. We will survive,” Barbra Streisand pleading with God, “Shema Koleinu (Hear our prayer)” or the Beatles in their final message to us in Abbey Road, “And in the end, the love we take is equal to the love we make.”

I hear Bob Marley talking to me. Despite all his travails, he still offered up optimism, “Don’t worry about a thing, cause every little thing gonna be alright.”

Music doesn’t always need to inspire to comfort, sometimes it just speaks to our inner voice. Probably, no one did it better for my generation than Bob Dylan. Think about his prescient and tragic lyric, “How many deaths will it take till he knows that too many people have died?”

Or Barry McGuire’s, “Eve of Destruction,” belted out with much gravel, when he asked, “Can’t you feel the fears I’m feeling today…Take a look around you, boy, it’s bound to scare you, boy…And you don’t believe we’re on the eve of destruction.”

Sometimes the tune evokes something even if the lyrics don’t relate to our situation. Think about Elton John’s haunting “Rocket Man”; “I miss the earth so much. I miss my wife. It’s lonely out in space on such a timeless flight.” And concluding with the 8-time repeated refrain, “And I think it’s gonna be a long, long time.”

Even the conclusion to L’chaim, from Fiddler on the Roof, “If good fortune never comes, here’s to whatever comes, Drink L’chaim, to life.”

I come from a musical family. My dad was both a renowned band leader and trumpet player. Holidays were blessed early on with him on trumpet, accompanied by my Aunt Helen, one of the first women graduates of Yale School of Music. His uncle, Harry Berman, conducted the New Haven Symphony and started the pops concerts at Yale Bowl. Relatives played in the Boston Symphony, NBC Symphony, Woody Herman’s Herd, Benny Goodman, Sammy Kaye’s bands and on and on. We actually had a Berman family orchestra at one point and now my brother, Mark, is proudly carrying on that tradition on Broadway, TV, recordings and concerts.

I, however, only inherited the appreciation gene (which I am thankful for). So, I may be biased in my belief that music is a needed comforter. But, I would guess that everyone has a playlist in his or her mind during these times. (Please feel free to contribute yours as a response to the post either on Medium or Facebook. I’ll put an addendum to the blog with your tunes.)

I’ll close where I began with Leonard Cohen, a giant in verse and lyric. Cohen seemed to predict our situation strewn through his vast and allegorical repertoire. It’s with some irony that he passed away one day before the last presidential election, on November 7, 2016. He knew.

The song he introduced at the top of this piece was his post dystopic, “Anthem.” Close your eyes and hear his deep almost monotone delivery:

“Ring the bells that still can ring. Forget your perfect offering. There is a crack in everything.

That’s how the light gets in.”

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Anthem by Leonard Cohen, from London, 2008

Three Little Birds by Bob Marley