Many years ago (twenty-seven to be precise), I took my two-year-old son to the Children’s Festival, held annually at the Annenberg Center within the University of Pennsylvania campus. Upon arriving, I purchased two tickets to the Iron Gate Theater to see Ozzie Davis Jr., a blues guitarist. We seated ourselves on a bench in one of the middle rows. My son, deciding it was time to flex his autonomy, left my side for a seat closer to the stage. Amused, I sat back and allowed it. What happened next amazed me. Ozzie Davis Jr. took the stage and proceeded to play a song called “The Candyman,” not a blues version of the old Sammy Davis Jr. song from the early 70s but an original composition. No sooner than Ozzie began strumming the rhythmic guitar riffs typical of the blues, my son started bobbing his head from side-to-side. Andrew had never heard music beyond Mozart or Sesame Street. How did he know to move his body in such a manner?
Music isn’t just an artform, it’s a phenomenon. Why? Because humans use their software to create something to which they’re hardwired. In a way, the relationship between music and humans does have a what came first the chicken or the egg component. Moreover, the universe, in effect, is an endless metronome, echoing all the way down, in measures, to a man sawing wood and the lilting expressiveness of children. Music, in one form or another, like our capacity to love, has always existed. A world without it lies beyond my ability to imagine.
Michael's Corner 
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