Why Make Music When We are Angry or Afraid?
“Art has the power to render sorrow beautiful, make loneliness a shared experience, and transform despair into hope…The magic of music is the magic of all art: to capture our pain and deliver us from it at the same time.” - Brené Brown
I’ve been thinking a lot about that quote in the lead up to inauguration day, especially in my interaction with students and colleagues. No matter how we may feel individually about the direction of our country, I think it’s important to acknowledge that many people we care about view the next four years, symbolically starting today, with a mixture of apprehension, fear, and anger. There’s no way to know exactly how the next years of our country will play out (and anyone telling you they know is probably trying to sell you something), but there’s historical precedent that many groups of people may feel less seen or dehumanized by politics and policy decisions that play out over the next administration.
One of the most common questions I've been hearing from colleagues and students that are feeling anxious about the direction of our country's government has been something to the effect of, “well with everything going on, what’s the point of making music?”
It wasn’t that many years ago that I was asking the very same question. I feel very lucky that trying to find an answer led me to teaching artistry, my current creative practice, and my career.
Every opportunity to explore this question is a gift, because it marks real artistic growth, when we begin to understand not just how we make great art, but why we do so. That learning journey is one of my favorites to travel alongside students and colleagues, because not only do they find more personal relevance and social impact in their artmaking, but it challenges me to continually grow in that direction as an artist as well.
To me, the first step in responding to the question of “What’s the point of making music” is to start with a commitment to continue making music. It seems obvious, but when confronted with why we choose to make art, the most important thing is to keep making art, however we can. The quote that started this piece so eloquently expresses why we need to continue making art while searching for meaning in the face of fear and anger: “to capture our pain and deliver us from it at the same time.”
When I’m advising students on their professional skills and career setbacks, I’m a big fan of the frustrated email that you write but DO NOT send. I’ve done this several times throughout my career when a job interview didn’t go the way I wanted or a collaborator wasn’t pulling their weight in a project. In each case after writing the email I felt better and I was able to maintain my relationship with those people without burning bridges because I was feeling angry in the moment. When I’ve recommended this practice to others, they feel the same.
The important mechanism at the center of this email practice is getting those feelings of frustration and anger outside of ourselves where we can then begin to perceive them for what they are and no longer feel governed by them. If we leave them inside ourselves, they fester and control us which can lead to broken relationships or unhealthy habits in our own lives.
The magic of art is that it is like a frustrated email, except you can share it with the world. It metabolizes and examines our own feelings in a manner that can, and should, be shared with others. Art is relational, allowing us to see other people and be seen in a reciprocal loop. We can give voice to the things that are making us fearful or angry and because we are doing so through art, other people feel safe enough to show up to what we are sharing and find their own meaning and deliverance wrapped up in it. If we’re doing it well, they’ll even be inspired to start making art themselves, in response to their own fears, joys, frustrations, and dreams. That sense of communal connection is what makes art an ideal response to challenging and fearful times.
Right now most of our methods for giving voice to our fear and anger actively promote more disconnection and loneliness. Think yelling into the void with a social media post, hoping the algorithm will help find others who feel the same, or getting into arguments with people who believe differently from us. Another alternative is we choose to ignore that fear and anger by trying to find ways to escape, pulling back from the world and people around us (which sometimes is a valid first step to protect our own health). Eventually though, when we’re ready, we need methods for confronting our fear and anger that, as Brown says, “make loneliness a shared experience.” Healing from loneliness isn’t a simple fix, it’s a journey with peaks and valleys, and we’re far more likely to create a better life for ourselves, both individually and collectively, if we share that journey with others.
The politics that we are feeling angry and fearful about thrive on continuing disconnection. If our tools for getting those feelings outside ourselves, which we have to do, beget more loneliness than we are just going to keep perpetuating the same types of politics and governance. Making great art is one of those tools for helping us confront those politics of fear and disconnection: an antidote not just for the next four years, but for many years after that, both in times of challenge and joy. If we can give voice to our own pain, deliver ourselves from it, and, most importantly, find connection with other people through that process, then suddenly we begin to create a vision for a more artful society. One where we have closer relationships, we understand each other better across difference, and we no longer feel like elections are choices between diametrically opposed ways of life.
While creating art alone still helps us process our own lives and the world around us, taking that step to engage through art with others is where true transformation happens. Making art expressly for ourselves is important, but it also is like opening a door and then choosing not to walk through it. When we lean into the relational nature of art, we can collectively envision new possible futures for ourselves. That’s where teaching artists can truly excel, coming alongside people to help them make art and ensure that they find connection with others through doing so.
So when we’re feeling scared or frustrated, whether it’s over the next four years or beyond, keep making music and think about how we can respond like a teaching artist and invite others to the artmaking process. If we are able to do that, I’m certain we will find a way to the more just, equitable, and creative world that we want to live in.
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