Music, Noise, and Dance

Music seems like a venue driven purely by the soul. As a musician and listener, I am hard pressed to identify what it is about a song or style of music that makes me appreciate it. It just fulfills some primordial desire. It feels good. Sometimes I will even play or hear a new song for the first time and it will resonate with me as if it a song I have always know but forgot about years ago. Based on these feelings, I would assume that music appreciation is a subconscious, instinctual response derived from a universal human trait, similar the world over. Unfortunately, I believe now that I was mistaken. In fact, it seems that people musical likes and dislikes are much more influenced by culture than by the human genome.
A few weeks ago I went against my better judgment and brought my guitar back to town with me. (By the way, big thanks again to Jimmy for parting with your travel guitar for my sake). So I brought it home and of course, before long, everybody wanted me to put on a show. On the first night, luckily, there was no time to go from house to house so the audience was meager. I pulled out the guitar and started tuning. All eyes were on me, and I was nervous about making them wait while I tuned. They, on the other hand, thought that my performance had begun, and graciously lauded my act. I was pretty reassuring for me. I thought “Wow, if they are enjoying the tuning so much, they will love it when I start actually playing”. Not true. When my tuning act was over and I started playing what I thought was real music the audience was silent. Awkward! Turns out musical taste doesn’t travel as easily as I thought.
The next day, I was summoned by neighbors to bring my guitar over and play for a large gathering or friends and neighbors. I made the short walk with my heart deep in my stomach at the thought of such a large perplexed and unsatisfied audience. When I arrived, all eyes were eagerly watching my every move; the man with the guitar. Slowly I pulled out the guitar pale with fear, but in a moment of clarity I passed the guitar to a village boy sitting to my right. Good move! He was ecstatic, and I was pleasantly avoiding shame. More importantly though, I gained a better understanding of Moroccan music. The guitar was passed around to a lot of kids that night, and they all played the guitar as if it were a percussion instrument. There was little or no concern with fretting, but a strong emphasis on strumming. It was consistent, fast, and loud. At first, I thought it sounded awful. Even worse when they brought out a large metal plate and spoon as accompaniment. But then somebody started singing in Arabic, and the three broken pieces began to form a whole. Still loud and a bit abrasive, but beautiful…and impressive. They may have turned my guitar into a chunking percussion instrument, but they made music in three part harmony the first time they were ever even shared a room with one. I did eventually play some music that night, but nobody was impressed until I resorted to tuning some more (To this day, when my host-sister Houda plays, she picks with one hand and cranks the tuning pegs with the other). When everybody finally got tired of the guitar, they put on some traditional Berber music. This really drove home the lessons I had learned that night. The music was made up of a large percussion section, one shrill and rhythmic violinist, and the occasional penetrating singing. With this music came spontaneous Moroccan dancing, which is like belly dancing mixed with club dancing. Another impressive skill, which technically as a male, I shouldn’t witness. Usually the woman in my village work hard to hide their figure by wearing multiple layers and loose bag-like dresses and jalabas. When dancing, however, they often tie a scarf around their hips with a knot to one side which becomes the source of gyration. Men dance too, but opposite sexes are careful not to mix so often times men dance together. Neither sex require a partner, but men dance together more traditionally face to face, whereas women gyrate next to each other in unison more like synchronized swimming. And for those of you wondering, no I still haven’t been forced to dance yet. Men in Morocco maintain the luxury of not having any pressure to dance. During weddings, a mans role is often just to sit in the background sipping tea and eating cookies. That works for me!