What Good is Music? (in times like these)

Though I’ve gone off social media—how incredibly peaceful—I do keep up with the news, as I believe that is a necessary part of citizenship and belonging to society.

Alas, the news has not been pretty.It’s been downright godawful.

It’s so bad, unbelievable, and terrifying that a rational person might well think: what good is music (or art, or literature, or any other creative endeavor) at a time like this?

Well, let’s dissect this question.

What we have been seeing in the news is (among other things) the manifestation of a certain paradigm—a framework around which things are ordered— that values the following , in no particular order:

— Greed

— Power

— Dominance

— Lies

— Ignorance

— Cruelty

— Indifference to others

— Greed

I could go on, but it’s too depressing.

You will ask: how is “mere” music or art going to save anyone?

And I will answer: because the arts align with a different paradigm, the opposite paradigm, in fact, valuing:

— Generosity

— Gentleness

— Cooperation

— Truth

— Knowledge

— Kindness

— Empathy

The arts express universal truths (those of this second paradigm) through an infinite variety of individually produced iterations. As we know from reading novels, a fictional tale can show us truths. A symphony by Mozart reveals to us the beauty-truth of balance and proportion. A Rembrandt self-portrait gazing at us some 350 years later exposes something true and deep about him as a man and artist, and about us all.

Studying music, we enter into history in such a way that it lives within us—listening to “O Magnum Misterium” by Tomás Luis da Vitória we connect with that world, though it is four centuries past and so much more spiritual than our own times. Listen to African drumming or Argentine tango or Elizabethan lute songs—you will be transported to another time and place. Somehow, the connection between you—you,who perhaps grew up in Southern California with your hair turning green from the swimming pool chemicals—and these far-flung people is much stronger than the distance. The distance collapses.

Or, pick up a pen and try to write a sonnet (ok, ok, a limerick!). Pluck notes on a guitar, and keep on plucking. Push a pencil across paper, leave your mark, enter into the brother/sisterhood of human creators. Gather together and sing, or chant, or recite poetry. Write and put on a play. Leave a mark—but a mark that has no cruelty, dominance, or indifference to others about it.

What the arts give the creator is then passed along to the the audience, the observer, the reader: a personal experience of the healing paradigm of generosity, truth, beauty. Consider, for instance, the immensity of the impact of Bach’s music—the product of one’s man’s life work. Few rival Bach, but on whatever scale, the creator leaves their added mark to posterity.

The paradigm of connection through the arts is the great triumph of humanity, not what we are seeing exposed in the news.

Notably, none of the prominent figures currently wreaking havoc in the world has any relation to the arts. It is hard to even conceive of them enjoying art—because you cannot be aligned with two opposite paradigms simultaneously. To be insensitive to art is to be inhuman. In the long run, that paradigm is suicidal, a death-wish, the product of profound deformity. To quote one of the kindest artists I know (kinder than me, that’s for sure):

“And still, we must feel compassion for these people”.

That, my friends, is the second paradigm in a nutshell.

Life is a string quartet: it only works if everyone listens to each other, adjusts compassionately, comes to a consensus, considers everyone’s contribution as valid, and frequently puts their individual ego aside.

Such a string quartet is a thing of beauty.

A string quartet functioning according to the first paradigm is worse than four tomcats fighting.

Right now, the world is full of screeching tomcats. But we can choose to keep sane, to keep the paradigm of humane dignity alive. Even now.

—Addendum: obviously, art, music, and writing can inspire, warn, or spread a message: African American spirituals , Viktor Frankl’s “Man’s Search for Meaning”, Martin Luther King “I Have a Dream” speech, Peyton Scott Russell’s iconic George Floyd mural…Let’s get to work!

Opting Out or Tuning In?

I have an admirable friend, let’s call him “Pedro”, who often releases his monthly newsletter and blog as much as a week ahead of time. I am so inspired…no…I am NOT! I am so panicked…OMG “Pedro”, is it (the next month) already?

To deal with this, I have been trying to compose my blogs ahead of time, to avoid this panic, and if I’m honest, to see if I can “one-up” “Pedro”. Ah, but he is a far more experienced writer, and I, I must edit. Sometimes to completely rewrite the whole thing. Last month I hand-wrote my blog. Then as I typed it into the computer it morphed into an entirely different essay. (I admit that was kinda fun!) And then that essay was tweaked and adjusted and whatnot. Thus the first of the month remains my bloody-good-enough goal…

All this to say that I am writing this “shitty first draft”, (thank you, Anne Lamott) on January 20th, which this year in the United States is simultaneously (tragically) Martin Luther King Day and inauguration day. The irony (tragedy) of this juxtaposition is lost on no one…

Today we celebrate a revered courageous black civil rights leader I am old enough to remember alive, whose speeches I have listened to many times and read and re-read. I’ve been uplifted by his message, the melodious tone of his resonant voice, the poise and musicality of his delivery, and the content of his character.

And we “celebrate” … the opposite.

What to do? Friends, I will not witness it. I will not hear that voice, see that man, observe the Titanic-like trajectory of my native country. Today I begin four years of opting out.

I will instead turn to my art as both comfort and an act of resistance.

While you may think that “playing with crayons" is an abnegation of one’s civic responsibilities, there is nothing that an autocratic regime fears more than free-thinkers, artists, and the creative spirit. Except all that from a woman! Check-mate.

It's not that anything I create is overtly political, though—who knows?—it might move in that direction under these conditions. It's that the mere act of not following the crowd, not conforming, being an individual and "speaking out” is enough to scare them. Witness: Entartete Kunst (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Degenerate_art),“Degenerate Art”.

By “them” I include the disgraced “leader”’s power-hungry billionaire pals infiltrating the government. They count on us not being able to disconnect from their products and services. They count on us to keep making them richer and richer.

Yes, these platforms—Facebook, Instagram, Amazon—are culture-defining. But I have agency, and I can make my choice to participate or not. And from here on out, I choose not. I opt out.

They count on us not grabbing our own agency, not being able to resist the pull, not being able to separate ourselves from the herd. They count on us being cowards and sheep and—especially—not bothering. They count on us drinking the Koolaid, the intoxicating brew of “if you’re not there, you don’t exist”.

I admit that exiting these platforms is not entirely heartbreaking for me. For quite some time FaceBook is not so much fun. Ads and algorithms, no thank you. Instagram was much more fun when it was just square photos—ah, the power of limitation to spark creativity! Now it is just another “Pachinko machine” of bells and whistles and disorienting distraction. (Why is it so hard to keep things simple? I know: the growth model). Twitter was fun when everyone was limited to 140 characters, prizing pithiness. A challenge! Now?…X?…just no).

Now they can’t be bothered to check for facts (or even pretend to)…and they gerrymander the algorithms to favor what will fool the incurious and feed the billionaire-greed even more. Another no. (And, what is wrong with these people? Of what could a billionaire possibly be in need? Oh, that’s a rich question indeed…To answer it honestly, from my viewpoint: they need love and to play with crayons.) Beatles: “Can’t buy me loooooooove……” Sigh.

Don’t get me wrong, I have absolutely loved being in touch with long-lost friends (I moved abroad, after all), and connecting with new people on social media. But I can’t support the evil (and I don’t use the word lightly) owners. Friends and readers: we will meet by other means.

(It appears that the whole point of this “free” online real estate was for AI to “scrape” up human-produced “content”…in order to sell it back to us at enormous profit… a story for yet another day.)

There are other platforms, in my case my personal site , my YouTube Channel, and Linkedin.

I’m also newly on Substack where I’m writing about all things creativity—come check it out!

And thus it was that on the evening of January 20th, 2025, I tuned out the news, and tuned in to a lovely dinner with a lovely friend, followed by art-making deep into the night. This, to me, is a worthy existence: opting out so I can tune in.

How to Survive and Thrive in '25

Last year I became an alchemist via my Word of the Year, “Magic”: I actively sought the moments of magic, and by seeking, found them.

This year, my recipe for survival—amidst the worrisome dissonance of modern life—is to create “Space”. Space for deep work and even daydreaming.

Frankly, it feels like a tall order, given the state of the world, but then, it also seems the perfect moment to choose a demanding goal, something that will buoy me up if I pull it off, and distract me from the world over which I have little direct control.

So, what do I mean by “Space”?

I mean solitude. I mean free time, extended uninterrupted time, time to myself, time for my work…and, obviously, the place and means to do the work. Or the daydreaming; la dolce far niente; the “do nothing” of Zen, Alexander Technique, and Integrated Practice—precisely because these create space from which creativity can spring forth..

Nearly a century ago, in her feminist essay “A Room of One’s Own”, Virginia Woolf spoke of this need. Alas, finding the space to do creative or deep work continues to be specially challenging for women. Not only due to mothering, obviously, but to the social and emotional work generally ascribed to us, regardless of individual talents or interests. Yet none of this is my issue at the present moment.

The issue is: our modern lifestyle. It’s like being inside a Pachinko machine, with bells and neon lights dinging and flashing nonstop. It is designed to addict us, to distract us, to sell us something, or all of these all at once, all day, every day.

I’m old enough to remember the “before”. No, I wouldn’t ask to go back, but I’m also not going forward anymore without a machete to whack away at it all until I can find a helluva lot more…S P A C E .

What’m I going to do, exactly, you ask? Here’s a list off the top of my head:

• Cancel TV subscriptions like Netflix…so much time spent scrolling…desperately looking for…something…

• Cancel any email or news subscriptions that are irritating or anxiety-producing

• Unfollow or mute any social media accounts that

• spoil my mood

• waste my time (oh gosh, that’s a lot!)

• ask for money

• Put my phone on airplane mode when I’m working, practicing, or busy “doing nothing”

• Delete apps (and perhaps a few people) that eat up my time and give nothing in return

And furthermore:

• Schedule larger blocks of “sacred” time/space/silence for my most important work (that is, the work that is most important to me).

• Schedule the endless and dreaded “admin” for “doldrums” hours, not prime-time.

  • Aim merely to do the possible, since doing all the “admin” is simply impossible.

• Enjoy friends in person

• Walk in nature

• Organize regular “Frango & Arte” ™ events

Sound radical? If it were 1975, or even 1995, it wouldn’t be, but it sure as heck is now. But who’s in charge: me, or “them”? Time to “Take back the day”.

Think I won’t do it? Ha! I’ve done more than half already, as “Survive & Thrive in ‘25 Prep”.

As Oliver Burkeman has pointed out, we’ve only got about 4,000 weeks on this Earth. Pick and choose in light of that.

Eric Maisel writes: “Noise is everywhere, and only a fraction of it is audible”.

This year, I’m giving myself the gift of turning off that noise.

To join me, click here to sign up for my monthly blog and newsletter. Happy 2025!

My Year of Living Magically

Can you believe 2024 is nearly over? This month I’m looking back at the word-of-the-year I chose in January: “Magic”— where I found it, where it found me, what the upshot has been of keeping an eye (and an ear) out for it during a whole year—and writing it down monthly in my newsletter (sign up here!).

Without a doubt, the act of paying attention to something boosts its presence in your life. Being rather idealistic, I easily notice what is NOT ideal. But actively seeking out “magic” each month has given me a greater appreciation for just how many magical moments occur in every month…as well as every week, day, and even hour, if you are truly tuned in.

At this particular juncture in time, with the answer to the question I posed at the end of last month’s blog (read it here) resoundingly answered with “NO!”, I find that my WOTY experiment has gifts to get me through the next year…and maybe even the next four years…

I discovered that when you are alert for the presence of “magic”, it is never far away.

Sun streaming through a winter window, sculptural trees dancing past the car window, the “afterlife” of flute notes in a resonant hall, or via techie means on your computer or mobile phone. Beautiful sentences one after the other in books we love, humorous comments online to get us through a dark patch, the soft, warm fur and contented murmurings of a beloved pet. Soft sheets, filling porridge (yes!), and of course, colors! For me, blues of the sky, of the sea, or painted blue crumbling gracefully on a wall.

When you’re on the lookout: magic is everywhere! Faithful reader: I tell you it is freely disponível.

And of course—one might be tempted to forget in the current moment of angst—it is even found in other people!

The joy of a student’s moment of inspiration or achievement, sitting across the table breaking bread with an old—or new—friend. The cheerful exchange with another “foreigner” behind the cash register at the local grocery, neither of us speaking in our first language. Making chamber music through a telepathy that surpasses age, nation, gender, or taste in anything else. An unexpectedly deep conversation with a friend, baring souls, acknowledging our fragile humanity. Reconnecting with childhood friends decades on, finding them essentially unchanged. The astute listening skills and deep compassion of a therapist, coach, or mentor, helping us learn to help ourselves. Gently holding a child’s hand: you can do this, you will be fine.

In October I visited an exposition of paintings by Megan Rooney (born in South Africa, raised in Brasil and Canada, living in London). The bright colors drew me in. The explosion of gesture, texture and rhythm held me in awe; in an ideal world I would have remained the entire day in that room, soaking it all in. (Info on the exposition here)

Looking carefully at the paintings and reading about her methods, I found in them a metaphor for my year of living magically.

On a canvas equalling the “wingspan” of her reach—nearly 3 meters high by 2 meters wide (big!) — gestural strokes of oil or acrylic have been layered over and over, together with pastel and oil stick. (Needless to say, I am dying to try this messy mix at home…) Smaller brushes leave their marks on top and between these layers. Furthermore, there are scratchings, scrapings, and some layers have been sanded down…flattened, semi-obliterated, scarred.

Yet the whole is beautiful beyond measure. Color, gesture, space, movement, but also time act upon the canvas. Things that “don’t belong together”—oil and acrylic—are forced to come to terms, wayward things happen, control is gained and lost. A painting of rich variety and interest emerges.

Is this not life itself?

It is fundamentally a mess, out of control, scraped and scarred and even slashed to smithereens. And yet, it is beautiful, especially if has an eye out for the magic.

Right now, in order to connect with the beautiful magic, I am turning off (literally) as much of the ugliness as possible. Temporarily, I am not disponível for the deluge pouring forth onto our screens. I am on a path “inward”, disponível only to my private thoughts, music, art and books. Later I will find a path “out”; for the moment, I am reaching for the oxygen mask and putting it on myself first.

Be well, too. Happy Holidays (or not) and I’ll see you in 2025.