After tea, they had some music. For they were a musical family, and knew what they were about, when they sang a Glee or Catch, I can assure you: especially Topper, who could growl away in the bass like a good one, and never swell the large veins in his forehead, or get red in the face over it. Scrooge's niece played well upon the harp; and played among other tunes a simple little air (a mere nothing: you might learn to whistle it in two minutes), which had been familiar to the child who fetched Scrooge from the boarding-school, as he had been reminded by the Ghost of Christmas Past. When this strain of music sounded, all the things the Ghost had shown him, came upon his mind; he softened more and more; and thought that if he could have listened to it often, years ago, he might have cultivated the kindness of life for his own happiness with his own hands, without resorting to the sexton's spade that buried Jacob Marley.
Scrooge has already started to change by the time we attend Fred's party in the book. He's already been shown the things he missed in the past. Now, the Ghost is showing him the things he's missing in the present. Fred's wife, playing the harp, reminds Scrooge of his beloved sister, Fan, and the happier times of his boyhood. His niece's music softens Scrooge "more and more," until he reaches the moment at the end of this paragraph where he thinks that music might have saved him from his present state of terminal unhappiness. All through the power of music.
Music has so much power. This past week, listening to the music of Whitney Houston on the radio and TV, I've been thinking about my younger days, when Whitney was at the height of her singing career. I don't think I can ever hear the song "I Will Always Love You," without thinking back to my grad school days. It also reminds me of the musical Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, which I directed back in the '90s. My wife and I were dating, passionately. All of our troubles with mental illness and sexual addiction were over a decade in the future. The future looked bright, full of promise.
That's what I've been thinking about this week. All because of a song. I'm sure if someone had told me back then that Whitney Houston would be dead in 20 years of a possible prescription drug overdose, I would have told that person that s/he was full of shit. Whitney Houston was flawless. Entertainment royalty. The daughter of Cissy Houston, a famous gospel singer. The cousin of Dionne Warwick. The sort-of adopted niece of Aretha Franklin. She had it all.
Of course, music can't change the past. It can't save my wife from being diagnosed with bipolar. It can't save Whitney Houston from developing addictions. It can't save my wife from her sexual addictions. And it can't save Scrooge from the life he has lived.
But music can remind us all of those shining moments in our lives when everything seemed to be going right. When things like mental illness, drug addictions, alcoholism, marital strife seemed impossible, out of the question. Music can bring those moments back. Music can give us hope. Music helps me cultivate the kindness of life, for myself and the people I love.
It's never too late to cultivate kindness, to think about the good times in life and remember the soundtrack. "I Will Always Love You" or the theme from Star Wars. "Jesus Loves You" or "Stairway to Heaven."
Saint Marty doesn't need a ghost or a sexton's spade. He just needs "Sister Christian" from Night Ranger.
Senior year of high school, baby!
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