Wednesday, April 26, 2006
The Non-Yoga of Music
For the past several years, my own practice has focused on what I like to think of as the "Yoga of Music." For me, the meditation consists of listening intently to a sacred piece of my liking, something which resonates the inner centers and channels, and thus awakens the flow of bliss. What I listen to varies from time to time. Recently, as I have mentioned, I have been listening to Tibetan chanting, complete with bells, cymbals, horns, and drums. You have to be in rather good shape to listen to this music with any real pleasure. When the FBI was trying to flush out the Branch Davidians in Waco, they played similar music full blast, on the theory it would force those inside to come out.
But for me, this and other sacred pieces bring great pleasure. Sometimes I listen to sanskrit chanting, with call and response from leader to group. My favorite here is called "The Chord of Love," chanting interspersed with readings of sacred poetry by Ram Das. Sometimes it is the gentle Vyaas Houston, a major spiritual teacher, especially of Sanskrit, mantra, and the like. Sometimes it is from the western tradition of sacred music--say, Bach's St. Matthew Passion, or the chanting of monks in sacred temples.
So, recently, when I purchased a CD by a well known musician and composer, someone who has produced moving compositions based on ancient Indian chants, I looked forward to a new experience of awakened bliss. However, that was not to be. The CD did contain sanskrit verses, but these were set to a kind of catchy jazzy over the top score--something you might hear at a jazz concert or in a nightclub. Frankly, it really disturbed me. "Why," I wondered, "are they (the musicians) doing this? Why can't they leave jazz where it belongs, and not tamper with the precious ancient forms? Why can't they enter the tradition, and let it do its work on them, rather than trying to re-mold it to fit their own temperament and likes?"
And then I remembered another disappointing purchase I made a year or so ago. It too purported to render the ancient Sanskrit songs, but in this case they were set to something which sounded more like heavy metal--a raucous cacophony of painful sounds. I was never able to play it a second time. It seemed like a pointless assault rather than an opening into the sacred.
So, I guess maybe I am an old fuddy duddy. I believe that the sacred should be just that--a very special state of mind, a melding of player, music, and hearer. That state of mind can, in fact, be reached in many ways--not only music and chant, but through sacred poetry, sacred dance, sacred drumming, movement, artwork, and so on. But the key is that the experience must derive from a sacred attitude and continue in that same vein.
If we want to enter the doors of the ancient temple, we must take our shoes off at the door. We cannot expect to bring in all our own baggage, and begin to remodel the edifice with our own personal taste.
Now, let me add, I have nothing against jazz and other forms of contemporary music at all. I just don't like the attempts at "transforming" ancient practice into something more pleasing to modern taste. What results is a hybrid, not really authentic in either mode.
A final note: when you do your own "Yoga of Music," you should, of course, choose what reflects your own taste, that which speaks to you. And, as they say, there truly is no accounting for taste.
But for me, this and other sacred pieces bring great pleasure. Sometimes I listen to sanskrit chanting, with call and response from leader to group. My favorite here is called "The Chord of Love," chanting interspersed with readings of sacred poetry by Ram Das. Sometimes it is the gentle Vyaas Houston, a major spiritual teacher, especially of Sanskrit, mantra, and the like. Sometimes it is from the western tradition of sacred music--say, Bach's St. Matthew Passion, or the chanting of monks in sacred temples.
So, recently, when I purchased a CD by a well known musician and composer, someone who has produced moving compositions based on ancient Indian chants, I looked forward to a new experience of awakened bliss. However, that was not to be. The CD did contain sanskrit verses, but these were set to a kind of catchy jazzy over the top score--something you might hear at a jazz concert or in a nightclub. Frankly, it really disturbed me. "Why," I wondered, "are they (the musicians) doing this? Why can't they leave jazz where it belongs, and not tamper with the precious ancient forms? Why can't they enter the tradition, and let it do its work on them, rather than trying to re-mold it to fit their own temperament and likes?"
And then I remembered another disappointing purchase I made a year or so ago. It too purported to render the ancient Sanskrit songs, but in this case they were set to something which sounded more like heavy metal--a raucous cacophony of painful sounds. I was never able to play it a second time. It seemed like a pointless assault rather than an opening into the sacred.
So, I guess maybe I am an old fuddy duddy. I believe that the sacred should be just that--a very special state of mind, a melding of player, music, and hearer. That state of mind can, in fact, be reached in many ways--not only music and chant, but through sacred poetry, sacred dance, sacred drumming, movement, artwork, and so on. But the key is that the experience must derive from a sacred attitude and continue in that same vein.
If we want to enter the doors of the ancient temple, we must take our shoes off at the door. We cannot expect to bring in all our own baggage, and begin to remodel the edifice with our own personal taste.
Now, let me add, I have nothing against jazz and other forms of contemporary music at all. I just don't like the attempts at "transforming" ancient practice into something more pleasing to modern taste. What results is a hybrid, not really authentic in either mode.
A final note: when you do your own "Yoga of Music," you should, of course, choose what reflects your own taste, that which speaks to you. And, as they say, there truly is no accounting for taste.
