When Music Heals
Music has impacted me for as long as I can remember. The endless combination of just twelve notes combined to create art that universally moves people is magical.
For me, it all started with my sister spinning her 45s in our basement on a tiny record player, trying to drown out the adult clatter upstairs. I remember her jumping around on the linoleum floor, littered with spider clips, vinyl covers, and discs that fell out in a pattern around her record player-in-a-box. It’s where I first heard The Beatles, Nancy Sinatra, The Beach Boys, and many others. Soon my friends played vinyl LPs in their basements, and the sounds boomed through single pain windows as we wandered from house to house with our collections. That’s where I heard The Rolling Stones, The Guess Who, Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin, The Who, The Eagles, Elton John, and so many more.
I felt the melodies and rhythms but was most captured by the voices of the artists. They seemed to be expressing feelings I couldn’t and sharing wisdom I didn’t have. Over time, I recognized a kind of pattern emerging. A sound, melody or song would seem to drop into my life at the exact time and place it was most needed and then stick with me. This phenomenon is often described as the ‘healing power of music,’ the help we get from music when we need it. Elton John told of this power when he said, — “Music has healing power. It has the ability to take people out of themselves for a few hours”. Looking back, I think music saved me, protecting me from darker themes I couldn’t face, and even a few minutes could have a positive impact.
One of my favourite personal examples of the healing power of a song is from a hot summer night in 1979. I was in College in London, Ontario, learning about Design and hanging on by a thread. The academic aspects of college were a breeze, but my personal life was a real struggle — with an endless list of challenges.
I was in love with someone who was not exactly loving me back and was with someone I didn’t care about enough. Living on a government assistance program that barely met my needs, I was broke and hungry and choosing between paying rent or eating. My home support system was also fading. My mother (at this point a widow for nearly five years) decided to sell our family home in Northern Ontario and move in with a man who, by every measure, was just wrong. While her three kids didn’t like it much, we understood her position. When you have been hovering below the poverty line for years, everything looks up from where you are standing. While there was no ‘home’ to return to, mom always helped my younger brother and me where she could. Still, I knew I was at a low point and saw few options. I now realize I had plenty of options, but we tend to feel helpless as kids.
One crucial gift my mother gave me was her old car, a twice-handed down 1971 Plymouth Fury III with 160,000 miles on it. It was a ‘land yacht’ of a vehicle, comfortably sleeping about five people and capable of holding all my stuff. Late one night, I parked at the Fanshawe Lake Reservoir and considered living in that car while listening to the local radio station. At some point, the station announced that Burton Cummings was coming to town. The DJ talked about the legend of the boy from Winnipeg, his arsenal of top hits, and then he played ‘Stand Tall,’ labelling it a certified gold hit in Canada. I was hooked immediately as that quintessentially Canadian voice rang out into the night. I had purchased his debut album and listened to the song often. Sitting there, I imagined his big white piano, and the chorus hit me with a whack.
And that was all it took. I sang along and began to stop feeling sorry for myself. I decided I needed to get part-time work, and a week later started working nights with a moving company retrofitting interior office spaces. It was a perfect fit and came with the bonus of getting a free sub-sandwich dinner on late nights.
The ‘Stand Tall’ lyrics remind me to hang in there regardless of the challenge. We all need to stand tall for or against things to bring about change. Stand tall — for the less fortunate, the planet, the truth, your country, your family, and all you value most. Stand against — the haters, conspiracy peddlers, liars, takers and that darkness that keeps trying to eek into your life when you are most vulnerable. ‘Stand Tall’ because otherwise, you are just floating in an ocean of challenges, and no one is coming to help you find a way home.
Over the years, the songs have continued to pile up in my head. I own hundreds of albums and CDs, still with me in boxes but sadly obsolesced with streaming services these days. I’ve also learned to play a few instruments along the journey. Long after the Northern Ontario basement vinyl parties, I learned to extract jigs, reels, and pop Celtic rhythms from my head with an amateur band. Our goal was to help fill local west coast pubs and even more basements with music and beer.
Decades have passed. I’ve travelled the world, put my brain to work on endless problems, and found many loves and opportunities I never thought possible. I remember my first home, where I heard music in the trees, the loon calls, and the faint sounds of AM radio bouncing across the lake at night. I remember drifting off to those everyday sounds that surfaced at school, the tap, tap, tap of pencils writing tests, weekly music class and the sound of rain on a tent pitched in our backyard. It still heals me.
Thanks to influences like Burton Cummings, I’m still standing tall and continue to enjoy — just listening.
