Art Heals: Savage Beasts

“Music has charms to soothe the savage beast.”  Well, not always.

(And anyway, the line is actually misquoted—it should read “Music has charms to soothe a savage breast.” 

This is the line from “The Mourning Bride,” a poem by William Congreve, 1697:

Musick has Charms to sooth a savage Breast,

To soften Rocks or bend a knotted Oak.

Some scholars think Congreve read/stole/interpreted lines from a Latin epic poem Pharsalia by the Roman poet Lucan, which was translated into English

and published in the 1620s and 30s:

...Whose charming voice and matchless musick mov'd

The savage beasts, the stones, and senseless trees

Artistic license?  Plagiarism?  Who cares?  Thus endth today’s history lesson.)

Back to savage beasts.  I have written about the musician who plays his trumpet on our street, busking the stopped cars for cash.  His repertoire is somewhat limited, comprising three songs, “The Star-Spangled Banner,” the theme from “Chariots of Fire” and that of “Star Wars.”  Complaints have been voiced online regarding:

1.        Lack of variety.

2.        Lack of musicality.

3.        Lack of consideration for those working from home.

4.        Lack of ability to differentiate day from night.

5.        All of the above.

A few nights ago, around 10 pm, the savage beasts came out in force. Hearing, from inside my apartment, yells loud enough to be discerned over the trumpeting and the traffic noise, I ventured onto the balcony to see three police cars surrounding the street musician. Incensed neighbors flooded their balconies with cries of outrage and aural pain, the most common of which was an unkind version of Keep Quiet. The savage beasts were obviously not soothed.   After lengthy confabulation among musician and forces of law and order, squad cars departed, musician gave one more tentative toot on his horn, and so far, has not been seen or heard again.

During the corona quarantine, we have been inundated with music, from Zoom orchestras playing Beethoven (how do they get the timing so perfect?) to Italians singing opera from their balconies, to little kid concerts on front lawns.  In San Francisco nurses and doctors came out to sing along with Tony Bennett

remotely telling them where he left his heart. (He’s fine—heart still where it belongs). 

For some, music can be uplifting, distracting, consoling, stirring, restorative.  

For others it is just noise.

We have never before lived so close to our neighbors, literally and figuratively.  Even urban New Yorkers, used to density and constant contact, have lodged an unprecedented number of noise complaints with the authorities.  We usually live in our own bubbles, consciously choosing the ambient sounds sluiced into our ears from headphones worn to commute, eat, read, even sleep.   But now fresh air from open windows surges fresh sounds with it.   We are living with other people’s choices now, telling us when we can go out, whom we can see (or not), what we must wear, eat, think.  Other people’s music is just a symbol of our lack of personal agency.

This situation is not going to be resolved any time soon.  So we need to rein in the savage beasts into which we mutate.   Cooperate amidst the cacophony.  Someday the sounds of silence will again prevail.  Meanwhile, I have rescinded my request for my husband to play his saxophone on the balcony.

Here is some sweet, silent music by Samia Zoghlami.  Art Heals.