Maple: Ode to Joy

Entwined in my earliest memories there is a beat, a rhythm — a near constant synthesis of sound. Our family home was seldom silent — music flowed through our high mountain halls, augmenting our every action — into some kind of dance. Adding a grace to our tries, while it enhanced our lives. It guided our attitudes and thoughts through the pain and passion of the human experience as sound resonated through the “soul.”

It’s been said that, “Without music, life would be a mistake” (Fredrick Nietzsche). Something I’m here to corroborate.

It’s often hard to say what the most important thing in my life is — but without a doubt, the lot, that I may list, would be shallow and brittle were it not accompanied by music. Many attempt to wax poetic, to philosophize and order their thoughts, their arguments into some coherent statement. Some revelation. As ironically, I am now … And though I have been struck by a sentence, by a book and by love, “somehow the musician, the poet was always there first.” Some claim the wheel or fire to be man’s greatest invention — but both pale in comparison to even a simple harmony.

For though the philosopher attempts to share their mind — to render an idea or argument to entice some imagery. Some metaphor. The musician goes further — they too, give you their thoughts, but it isn’t just a picture, somehow with a splash of sound they can render how they feel… And through some strange assimilation of the two, they fuse with you. Their song becomes your song — as it seeps through your ears, enticing the brain — until it drips to the heart and starts to elicit art. The beat gets in your bones, washing away separation with synchronization. Many situations beg empathy of another, but with music there is no trying, you feel it, it becomes your own. Capable of provoking both tears and laughter. There is a song for nearly every condition of the heart. It can inspire and tear apart — but above all, it brings us together, into rhythm. Music doesn’t have power… It is power.

Growing up in a small mountain town would ostensibly isolate us from the clash of culture that seems necessary to produce great art — nevertheless, some amalgamation of place and value have conspired to bring great music to us. From the Aspen Music School with a 75-year legacy, nine programs of study and four orchestras. To Belly Up, a rare bar venue that allows high school students to experience rock and roll in its natural habitat. Finally, Jazz Fest and the countless free concerts orchestrated by Aspen Snowmass. We have been lucky enough not to just be told the importance of music but to experience it.

Live music became one of my highest priorities early on — I decided I’d rather eat top ramen and saltines for weeks than miss out on the next great show. Now I have a memory bank filled with laughing and dancing friends — shows that struck us to the core and brought us together like nothing before. Among those, is a memory that most aptly personifies the power of music.

I was perhaps 22, and our crew had begged, cajoled, and saved to acquire tickets to Mumford and Sons at Jazz Fest. I was just old enough to be bold enough to slither and move through the thick crowd formed well before the music started. There are few places with such tension as a hot, crowd, smashed together, filled with anticipation — many are quite prepared to snap at the smallest altercation. Coincidentally, a 6’2″ man and his group of friends gliding into the small space you thought you’d saved in front of you fits such an occasion, inspiring many to rage. And on that day, a middle-aged woman and her entourage snapped (I’d argue unjustly) at me. Grabbing and throwing my hat and spitting on me — I’d like to think I handled it with grace. Saying it’s going to be OK, lady, and holding the space. A friend at the end of our tail hilariously caught the hat, thinking I’d thrown it, and we spent the next few minutes being chewed out. But as soon as that first cord rang, everything changed. The tension evaporated and by the end of the first song we were dancing and laughing with the very crew who’d just chewed us out — the lady who’d spit on me minutes earlier was crying and apologizing while hugging and dancing with us screaming with ecstasy. Music remains the swiftest catalyst for change. Providing a chemical reaction disrupting the laws of physics and creating pure which does not diminish. A band feeds off the crowd, creating something unique, giving it back to them in an exquisite blend.

“One good thing about music, when it hits you, you feel no pain” (Bob Marley).

Some say that math and science are the only universal languages—but we rarely understand what the hell they are talking about. Music is the other, perhaps it is what math feels like. For there is a power in it, a structure capable of changing the dream. Long have humans relied on music to bring people together; it is a universal phenomenon embedded in every known culture. Potentially arising before spoken language. Few things can so quickly and thoroughly unify a population or people. Through music, rendered into dance, people from entirely different cultures and language backgrounds can discover everything they need to know about each other in order to risk copulation—without a single word being shared— we are ensnared.

“Music is the universal language of mankind.” (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

Today we have more access to music than ever before — libraries of songs held in our pocket, even going so far as to be close to infinite. Access to artists from around the globe that we never could have discovered on our own. There has never been a better time to be a musician or a connoisseur of sound — and yet our access to live music in Aspen is fading. We are being priced out. And what’s left of our bars and restaurants, seem to think a DJ, or even a playlist will suffice where a local band once stood on the weekends. For 35,000 years there was only one way to experience music, live and in person, at the mercy of the creator and their creation, “sometimes the old ways are best.” As we limit our contact with live music, something is lost. The act of creation — of energy shared. We lose something spontaneous, something essential — randomly enfolding into a time and space. We lose something authentic, a part of ourselves that is possible to share. So give me music or give me death! For life without music just becomes a slow and painful death.

“Music gives a soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination, and life to everything.” (Plato).

World Cup and Olympic skier Wiley Maple was raised in Aspen.