Reflections on Music by Amanda Richards – 11.05.06
When asked about the role music plays in my spiritual life, I wrestled with the question. The
word “spiritual” is not really part of my personal vocabulary, and yet music fulfills a need within me
that nothing else can. It seemed to me that there must be a deeper connection.
My musical roots go deep. My paternal grandfather could play any stringed instrument he
picked up, including guitar, mandolin, and banjo. A New Mexico rancher and farmer, he and my
grandmother earned a little extra money playing in a jazz band called The Rhythm Rascals. My cousins
Ken and Kelly played in several country and western bands called The Sagebrush Review and The
Bullseye Bullet Band. At family reunions, someone eventually pulls out a guitar and we all sing until
we run out of breath or words.
Neither of my parents received much formal musical training. But they love music and I grew
up listening to opera, classical, folk, jazz, bluegrass, and Western swing. (Dad drew the line at rock
and roll, however). At various times, mom and dad both sang in their UU church choir. I took piano,
recorder, and violin lessons, and my parents have always supported me enthusiastically. I assure you,
there is no love greater than a parent sitting through a grade school orchestra concert.
As an adult, I continue to participate in various musical groups. I am in the Countryside choir
and the madrigal group. I’ve played violin in more orchestras and chamber groups than I can count. I
sing in the shower, in the car, and on long road trips. (My family had a set of “car songs” that were
sung only in the car and nowhere else. These included “The Flying Purple People Eater,” “Sixteen
Tons,” most of the John Denver catalogue, and anything by Tom Lehrer.)
In many ways, music represents work to me, not spirituality. Learning music means practicing,
paying attention, practicing, getting the notes right, and practicing. I think it was Beethoven who once
said: “Playing music is easy—you only have to play the right notes at the right time.” If only it were
that easy. To make music, you have to do something with those notes—interpret them and make them
yours. When that happens, you are no longer playing or singing the music—you become the music,
and it is a feeling unlike anything else in the world.
For me, being a musician is an act of imagination and connection, not just between myself and
the listener, but between myself and a pure ideal of music. When playing or singing, I join two
thousand years of civilization in creating something beautiful, even if it is only one bright, slender
thread of melody or harmony among many others.
I remember once remarking to a professional musician that I was “only an amateur.” “Never
say that,” she replied. “Remember that amateur means ‘love’ in Latin. You do it because you love it.”
I cannot imagine existing without music—it would be like not breathing. Music does not
merely play a role in my spiritual life—it is my spiritual life.