The Story of Music

Amber - Rexburg, Idaho
Entered on April 7, 2008
Age Group: 18 - 30
Themes: creativity

I believe in the story of music. Though it cannot be read by the human eye, its pages fill my life. Pictures penetrate my mind when listening to a single verse and emotions are let loose by the sound of a certain cord. Notes on every line with different pitches and rhythms seem to make life worth living. I believe every composer is like an author, writing a piece that has a beginning and an end and it is my responsibility to determine how I will make that epic journey. What emotions will be felt along the way, and how long it is going to take me to get there all depends. And sometimes it takes that fairy tale imagination to realize at the end the moral of the story called music.

Instead of begging my parents for one more fairy tale before bed, I was pleading for one more verse of a song. “Twinkle, Twinkle” and “Old McDonald” never could quench the thirst I had for music. Yearning for more sound, more instruments and more music in this world, I began obsession for music. Picking up every object that lay in my path and banging it on something else to hear the sound that it produced was the simple joy in my life. And when other kids were dressing up as princesses from far off kingdoms, I was learning how to capture the song inside my heart and write it to music.

Now I was eighteen years old, and desired for nothing more but to compose my own piece of music. When the cold and crisp air of Oregon came in late November, I knew it was time to take my dream and make it a reality. With all the courage I possessed, I approached my bald band director and pleaded for him to allow the whole ensemble to perform the music I had stored in my heart for eighteen years. Following his questionable agreement, I spent the next month concealed in my room, spilling onto paper notes, rhythms, symbols for all instruments. One hundred and seventeen hours later I emerged from my room with a master piece entitled, “The Story of Music”. One hundred and eighteen hours later I was one stage, baton in hand, ready to tell its story.

I believe in the story of music. It can begin with the angry cry of an alarm clock in the early hours of the morning and end with the song of the crickets outside the window. The cooing of a little child could be a verse and the sound of a loved one over the phone, one of the cords.

Music is all around, telling its story, all we have to do is listen.