Music means a great deal to me and many of my cherished friends. After writing On Music, I became curious what my musician cohort thinks about music and the way it has shaped their lives. I found my own reflection process to be invaluable, so I became interested in the insights of my friends and peers. I sent a survey to several of my friends who, I believed, would add value and depth to the conversation. I was not wrong.
Below is a collection of seven lightly edited responses to the questions “what is the role of music in your life?” and/or “what does music mean to you?”
I’ve also included short biographies and links to their works and landing pages so you can get to know them a little better.
Logan Hart is an administrative assistant for the Robotics Program at Northwestern University by day and an owner/director of a theatre company, The Paper Theatre, and freelance composer by evening/weekend. He graduated from Wayne State University with a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree in Theatre, and studied at the Moscow Art Theatre School (MXAT) in Russia for two summers.
I had recently begun to doubt a new romantic relationship that I was in. I felt physically sick, like there were deep pits in my chest and stomach. I visited my brother at his college apartment, and there he showed me the piece Immunity by Jon Hopkins. It slowly drew me into its hypnotizing, soft rhythms and somber, reassuring piano. It knocked me right out, and I woke up without any anxiety in my mind or body, the path ahead a bit clearer.
A few years later, my brother and I were driving to what would be our first and last visit to the hospital where our father was being treated before he passed away. As we drove down the country highway, a very dense fog began to appear and cover the farmland all around us. Yet again, Jon Hopkins was playing in the background, but instead it was a remix of his own piece called Immunity - Asleep Version. Yet again, I was gifted space to pause and reflect.
As I thought about this question, I realized that my feelings about music all lead back to one idea— order in the chaos.
Kathryn Santiago is a board-certified Music Therapist who lives in Zionville, North Carolina, where she works as a music therapist in a nearby correctional complex. She earned her Bachelor of Music in Music Therapy and Master of Music Therapy degrees from Appalachian State University in Boone, North Carolina, serving as an undergraduate supervisor during her graduate studies. Additionally, she earned an Expressive Arts Therapy certificate and is currently a trainee in the Bonny Method of Guided Imagery and Music (BMGIM).
Music is, Music brings, and Music lives. It’s the life behind a woman’s smile as she sings to her newborn baby, the life reverberating with the first guitar chord played after an injury, the life in the soul of the person who finally hears lyrics that speak to their struggle, life moving through a group of individuals improvising together and connecting beyond time and words, the life in my abuelita’s eyes as she hears her grandchildren playing and singing together. It’s the life in every note, every song, and every instrument. Music is rooted deeply within our nature and interwoven in our ancestry. May I dare to say it is the lifeblood of human connection. Unfortunately, in our individualistic and white-dominated American society we have lost a lot of that nature and connection. That is partially why it is such an honor to be a music therapist. I have the great privilege of bearing witness to music bringing and supporting life and connection.
In my sessions, I often view music as my co-therapist and invite space for its shapeshifting abilities to shine. It shifts into beats and rapping that support an inmate in opening up about past trauma. Then into group improvisations with tone chimes that bring an isolated young woman into social connection. Suddenly it is in the motion of a child playing a drum as they count. Into the silence - holding the precious moments in between. I could write for pages about the power of music bringing life, holding life, caring for life, and comforting life. For now, I will end with the hope that you begin to hear how music lives. Be it in the rustling of leaves, the shuffling of feet, the cacophony of voices in your local café, or in every breath you take. I hope you invite music to live with you.
Jeremy Harr is an Operatic bass who has performed dozens of roles on operatic stages all across the country and has most recently been seen in residencies at Virginia Opera and Pittsburgh Opera. He earned degrees in Vocal Performance and Theater from Oberlin College and Conservatory of Music, as well as a Master’s degree in Opera Performance from University of Maryland.
Music holds a complicated role in my life as it is both my passion and my livelihood. The act of making music, particularly in collaboration with other musicians, is something incredibly special and addictive. I love that feeling of being a small but important piece of the puzzle that ultimately results in a powerful artistic experience on stage for audience and performers alike. At the same time, though, I experience music as a business, and the two sides often seem at odds with one another.
While disillusioning at times, the thing that has kept me here thus far, apart from my own privilege that has allowed me to, is that indefinable experience of perfect collaboration– the first time singing with a pianist, getting a whole cast together for an initial sing through, adding the orchestra to rehearsals. These are pure moments of artistic perfection, and they are what I love most about being a musician.
Abigail McKay Cherry is a digital program specialist at a software company in Troy, Michigan, and has enjoyed extensive tenure at the Episcopal Cathedral in Detroit. She makes her debut performance with the newly rebranded Detroít Opera in the chorus for Aida this winter, after having led performances of Martha and Street Scene as an undergraduate. She earned a Bachelor’s degree in Vocal Performance for Oakland University.
I have been a musician for as long as I can remember. In my adolescent years, music was my entire life and consumed all of my time and energy. “Singer” was the foundation of my identity. Every audition, solo, and performance determined my value- a failure in any of these categories was proof of my worthlessness.
When preparing to apply to college, it wasn’t so much a decision as a guarantee that I would study music. I spent four years earning my Bachelor’s Degree in Voice Performance. I was successful in my program but rarely happy. I was dealing with undiagnosed ADHD and the agony of suffering in silence. It was a challenging time for my mental health as I struggled with intense feelings of perceived rejection. Each time I was criticized by a peer or a professor, whether constructive or destructive, I internalized their critiques as reflective of my personhood- and most of the time that meant that I believed I was a failure.
To make my very long story short: I went to college to be an opera singer. By the end of year three I knew, but couldn’t admit, that I didn’t want to be an opera singer. The lifestyle required is nomadic and often unstable and I was not prepared to make those sacrifices. I wanted to go to grad school because I was afraid of facing the reality of being an adult in the workforce for the first time. I didn’t go. I thought I would try to apply to grad programs again the following year. Covid hit. Some combination of the Universe and my subconscious knew that I wasn’t ready to go back to school until I faced the challenges that had bubbled just below the surface for so long.
Through a lot of therapy, and even more time, I have come to understand that music’s role in my life was not always healthy. Music held all of my value. My whole identity hinged on my ability to succeed in the confines of a career field that is fatphobic, deeply subjective, often mentally and emotionally abusive, and above all, incredibly racist. I have learned that I don’t feel called to the stage. I feel called to teach young singers as a Voice Teacher. I feel called to fix the system before it breaks kids like me. I feel called to be the voice of reason, safety, and acceptance for them. I feel called to stop the abuses before they start, raising a new generation of singers whose identity is secured, solidified, and fostered by mentors who see their humanity first.
I am still working to heal my own relationship with Music. But time, patience, and compassion with myself are showing me that the love between Music and me has always been real. Music and I will always be connected, she is my oldest friend, but now I recognize that she is a part of my life, and not the whole.
Mark Hosseini is an Operatic baritone who has performed with numerous musical organizations in the United States and abroad including Opera Philadelphia, Opera Delaware, Des Moines Metro Opera, Ohio Light Opera, Opéra Louisiane, and Bachfest Malaysia. He holds a Bachelor’s degree in Vocal Performance from Oakland University and a Master’s degree in Voice from the Eastman School of Music.
For much of my life, music was the thing that made me, me. As a child I was very shy, awkward, and I was terrible at sports. I had grown up playing the piano, and was pretty good at it, but when I discovered my love of singing in high school, my world changed completely. Being in choir and theatre productions with an incredibly welcoming group of students brought me a newfound confidence and sense of purpose. I became hooked to the electricity of performing, and I took every opportunity I could to get on stage. I had so much encouragement from my teachers, friends, and family regarding my singing that I decided to pursue it as a career in college.
Knowing that I had the talent to entertain audiences, and have a lot of fun doing it, drove me to make as much out of this career as I could. Having been a full-time professional singer for several years now, music continues to be my greatest passion and, as cliché as it sounds, a way for me to make sense of the world. I am incredibly grateful for the friendships, experiences, and opportunities music has given me, and my life continues to be more fruitful the more music is a part of it.
Melody Baker currently resides in Royal Oak, Michigan, where she doubles as an Order Entry Clerk and a voice teacher at Vocal University. She earned her Bachelor of Music degree in Voice Performance from Oakland University.
My parents considered naming me Hannah. I used to think there was some sort of divine intervention that made them change their minds. Now, I think they just knew. I have always needed music, was always drawn to it. As a kid who found it hard to express my emotions and a lot of times identify them, music offered a direct line from my head to my heart. Or I guess, the other way around.
There’s a spirituality in it- something ancient, the want for more than words and the need to reveal it. Music has been around longer than some languages and I think when we experience it, we’re experiencing humanity in its purest form. So pure, it transcends language, class, sexuality, gender, race… How fascinating it is that the use of it in certain contexts can aid in the healing of traumatic brain injuries, or bring tears to the eyes of people with warring views. Ask any choir kid, and they’ll have a story to tell you about a rehearsal where you couldn’t tell where your friends’ voices ended and yours began. Ask any performer, and they’ll tell you about a performance that was so electric, it left them feeling like nothing could hold them down, not even gravity. That is barely scratching the surface of what music can do.
As much as I believe in music, I won’t ignore that humanity has in fact left a stain on it. Our music history classes are filled with explicit details of “the great” composers- birth dates, death dates, love affairs, locations where they composed certain works. But they leave out many black, queer, and women composers. You’ve heard of Mozart- have you heard of Lili Boulanger? There is so much out there that is glossed over, so much incredible music I never would’ve been privy to if I hadn’t thought to look for it, and it’s a shame. My hope for my current (and future) students is that I help foster an environment where they see themselves in music. Where they find inspiration to create and don’t try to fit themselves in the boxes western music has encouraged. In many ways, I’m learning that lesson myself over and over- what it’s like to truly find freedom in one of the purest forms of expression humanity has to offer.
Samantha Westlake-Hart resides in Chicago and works as a university administrator at Northwestern University, a freelance piano accompanist and music director, and is a co-founder of Hollywood Mutiny. She earned a Bachelor of Music degree in Composition from Wayne State University and a Master of Fine Arts degree in Screenwriting from DePaul University.
Whenever I get cynical about the importance of music in the greater human experience, I remember how Steinway & Sons airdropped pianos to troops on the battlefields of WWII to provide a means of lifting their spirits, and how not too far away, Jewish prisoners in a Czech concentration camp formed a choir to sing Verdi’s Catholic Requiem together. Now, not to sound too Dead Poets Society, but to me, music has always been one of those things that makes life worth living. Even in our darkest of times, music can unite us, provide comfort, and conjure hope for a better tomorrow.
Like many of my musical compatriots, I have a non-musical day job, and after a tough day, one may come home and think, “What’s the point? Why do I keep doing all of this?” But then I sit down at the piano or pick up my violin, or even just put in my headphones and allow the sound to transport me somewhere else. The power of music to allow us to escape— to make us dance or cry or yell or clap— is one of the incredibly unique aspects of what it means to be human. In our finite amount of time in this world, our bodies are able to experience the beauty and wonder of air vibrating at different speeds and frequencies, and I think that’s pretty cool.
As you can see, music is an incredibly powerful, and multidimensional, force. It eludes description in many ways— yet so many disparate strands feel familiar to us as we read and remember our own musical experiences. I hope that something here has resonated with you, that you learned something or, at the very least, that you enjoyed getting to know these fine musicians and people.
Edited by Jeremy Harr and Abigail McKay Cherry
A very special thanks to Logan Hart, Samantha Westlake-Hart, Kathryn Santiago, Jeremy Harr, Abigail McKay Cherry, Mark Hosseini and Melody Baker for their contributions to this edition.
Thank you for reading this long-form edition of Two Minute Treatise, a weekly essay newsletter focusing on one philosophical topic, (usually) two minutes at a time.
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A nice inside look at musical careers I was not aware of. Such insight! So many emotions. Music is my love language.
I enjoy your writing. This is the first treatise you’ve written where I feel out of touch and removed from your music professionals’ views. Perhaps a function of age and experiences?