Photo by Gary Clarke

Yesterday, the Family Folk Machine, a multi-generational, non-auditioned choir here in Iowa City that I am so proud and happy to be part of, played a straight-up magical gig. We performed a benefit concert for the local chapter of Veterans For Peace, to help raise money, to quote one of their representatives, “to help us compete with the military budget.” I have no idea how many billions we raised yesterday, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that it was one of the most magical things I have ever done.

The audience was made up of loving peaceniks, for starters, and the room was leaning so far left that none of the posters or banners could hang straight. Heaven.

Snow was falling in slow motion outside the wall of windows, and beautiful deer and other wild things were gamboling and foraging outside. The hillside was covered in snow, pure and deep. It was hypnotic and peaceful and stirring all at once.

The choir was smaller than usual, so the harmonies were sweet and light, and the band was also a lot smaller than usual, and tight. I was astonished over and over at how good this band is; that some of the finest musicians I’ve ever worked with are doing this totally heart-centered work that is all about the feels. It is a holy calling for all of us, to steep ourselves in this deeply loving expression of our deepest life-long passion. Our phenomenal fiddle player, Tara McGovern, had 100 moments of brilliance that made me look at her in awe and say, “Oh my god, I love you!” It was that kind of a day.

We have kids in the choir, from about the age of 6 to grown-up, and some of them are just blossoming into their musical identities and abilities. One young man in particular, I think he’s 10 years old now, had a solo on the powerful old Weavers song, “Wasn’t That A Time” that gave me chills and nearly made me cry. Another of our kids sat in with the band on mandolin, cold, without rehearsing with us, and nailed it. Just nailed it. And it was so delightful to have him there, at 9 years old, with his exuberant focus and his sheer joy at being over to the side with the cool cats.

So the band was killin’ it, and the choir was like finely woven fabric, and the audience was pre-disposed to be in love with us. We felt like we were in a snow globe. Emotions were running high in the best possible way; people cried for joy, cried because they were moved, cried because it was beautiful, cried because the music touched something deep and sacred and wounded and initiated the healing process. The choir cried. The band cried. The choir director, super-human Jean Littlejohn, cried. Our board president’s mom cried. The audience straight up cheered after every song, and stood up at the end and made us all cry again.

What’s the point of all this? I have seen a ridiculously large number of recent studies proving that music is as important as any nutrient, maybe as important as love, in our well-being and in the development of each individual’s humanity. Drumming, singing, chanting and toning, particularly in company with supportive souls, can increase our well-being at the least, and heal us from nearly anything at the most. Singing together, or drumming together, gives us a sense of community and raises our “We” consciousness, which increases our compassion and our capacity to love. We walked out of that concert yesterday floating on air, feeling alive and vibrant and joyful. The audience sang along. I mean, these people did not phone it in. We connected with them in a huge way. I felt exhilarated and exhausted in the best way. Not exactly emotionally drained, but emotionally . . . released. Ten years lighter. I think we all did. Except maybe the kids, because that would have been really awkward for them.

Find a group of people creating sounds and join them whether you can carry a tune in a bucket or not. Does. Not. Matter. You will be assimilated. There is a sciencey thing called self-organization that comes into play, sometimes called “entrainment.” Heartbeats sync up, breathing syncs up, brainwaves sync up, and singers tune up. I’ve seen it happen. Same with rhythm. If you don’t have it, you can still feel it, and you will end up getting synced up and in time whether you know it or not. It’s part of music’s magic. Once we get into the flow, our collective humanity takes over and we slip into the groove. It’s one of the natural gifts that we too rarely take advantage of.

We need to be making music together – all of us. Not just a few hippies on the left-leaning side of the room. All. Of. Us. Music bonds. Music eases tension and heals wounds and obliterates fear. Open up and sing. Bang a drum all day. Gather with your frienily (friends who are family) and make some music. Even if it’s terrible at first. It will get better. And you will get better. And everything around you will start to shift to a higher vibration, and it’ll take you with it.

Trust in sound, trust in music, trust in magic. 

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