My first day

First off, I'm really sorry that it's taken me four days to post about my first day of class. Without going off topic here, I'll mention that all hell broke loose at work, and it took priority for a bit. Things have calmed a bit, so here we go.

I made it to my classroom about 10 minutes before the start, so I got to drink in the enormity of what I was about to start. As the other students started filing in, it became clear to me that I was the oldest student there. It isn't the first time I've been the oldest somewhere. What I really enjoyed was watching the variety of students who were in the room. Nothing's changed. Sitting next to me was a kid with a dogeared notebook and papers from registration...all looking like they had been in his pocket for a week. In the row behind me (we were in more of a theatre than a traditional classroom) were two girls who giggled every 5 minutes. It wasn't in an obnoxious way, they reminded me of my 9 year old daughter: really cute, giggly... I was thinking that Kylie would love playing with them. One of them, Jenn (she insisted to the teacher that he remember the second N), actually physically reminded me of my daughter. There were the book worms, and two jocks, and the guys and girls who felt totally out of place in any kind of music class, then the musicians... well the guys who said 'they worked out beats and did hip hop' Nope, I'm not, while taking a world music class, give any opinion of hip hop, rap, or anything else.

Have to have an open mind, afterall.

Well, my teacher comes in, and I don't know why I was so surprised, but he was nothing like I expected. My teacher is a long haired, slightly balding Deadhead. He immediately explained that he likes to teach barefoot or at least without socks. I LOVED IT! No, I'm not a Deadhead, but I was expecting a stereotypical college professor like I had at Loyola University. You know what I mean? Man, I totally lost touch with college, because no one at Columbia looked like what I was envisioning this teacher to look like. My teacher is incredibly passionate about music...all kinds of music, and I totally love this.

In my crazy world, I sometimes forget how much I love music. How important music has been for my soul. Yes, I'm a guitar player, and a rocker, and my passion lies there; but music in general had been so integral to my spiritual self...and I have missed that a lot. I get hung up on gear, and how I want to try to sound like my favourite guitar players... Let's just say this class is going to be a breath of fresh air.

Sorry to digress.

At any rate, the teacher started class by defining music. The definition in this class was an arrangement of sounds with an artistic purpose. He then played a number of ...well, let's call them sounds, and the class had to decide if it was music or not. One of the things we learned is that while some things might be music to OUR ears, it might not be considered music where the sounds originated. For example, he played an Azan, a Muslim call to prayer. The melody was haunting and beautiful. It is not, however, music. Why not? Because the further definition of music is that any definition of music is subject to cultural opinion of where you are or where it's taking place. It's considered blasphemous to call an Azan music, so...it's not music.

Interesting huh?

Okay...wrapping up. I have homework. My son Max already grounded me for not getting it done when I came home Monday night. I have to read the first chapter and listen to examples presented. Taking notes, thinking, listening.

Yup...it's school all over again.