Earth Music

Music is rhythm, and sound; and dance is rhythm's movement, itself both sound's source and the response to music's sound returned from others. Mother Earth tells me that she and her creation are music, and because we are one of her fruits, this music is ours. Even science, the great religion of our misbegotten age, tells us this. Everything, it says, is both matter and waves, and the rhythm of these waves shapes the universe. Too often, the waves of which scientists speak are invisible except to sophisticated tools which are used as substitutes for our native senses. Happily, these are not the waves and this is not the music which matters. Tours Chaines Deboules* Consider that which does. The whole skin of Mother Earth, where we humans are formed, live, die, and are re-formed, is aware that the sun rises and sets. This has been true, it seems, for a very long time, and may continue into some incredibly distant, unknowable, now. Or, maybe not; she will decide. Despite its misunderstanding and abuse of wildness, science has in it some good, as have all things. For instance, because of astronomy, we are rightly persuaded, I believe, that the rising and setting of the sun is not the doing of the celestial sphere, or some similar notion of our standing still while all above us moves. It is rather part of the dance of Mother Earth which astronomers call rotation, and which we, more aptly, may call spinning. Since, in relation to the Sun, she now leans as she spins, we have not only days of light and dark but also - when aided by another element of her dance - seasons. Astronomers call this second rhythmic movement revolution, around the sun. This circular "tours chaines deboules" is mimicked on a miniscule scale by ballet dancers nightly in theaters across our Mother's surface. The most primal sounds from her spin and revolution are too great and subtle for humans to hear, or so it now seems. But they do exist. Human dancers tire. On any time scale meaningful to us, our planetary Mother does not. However, astronomy's tools tell us that the moon, which revolves around Mother Earth, is receding from her. As it does, her rotation is gradually slowing, just as does a spinning ballerina who gradually opens her arms. We are also told that the rate of this reduction is very slow, and that humans are unlikely to see its end. This vast, delicately balanced music is shared by every presence on her solid surface and in her air. It is critical to our existence, whether we humans stand or bow in awe, treat it mundanely, or attend more to our watches than to the sky.

No matter how we treat the patterns of day and night, and the seasons, our global culture tends to assume that until the Earth exhausts herself or is struck from without, these rhythms will change very little. To this culture, Mother Earth is not a wondrously variegated organism which can change herself at will. I hear from her that this is a sadly mistaken assumption, and that she can, has, and shall change her dance with the Sun, sometimes quite abruptly, whenever she feels the need to do so. This is true, indeed, of all Earth music. The consequences for her creation, including us, can be extreme. Time Scales Were Mother Earth to think as humans, the rhythm of sun and seasons would seem blindingly fast. Taken as a portion of her presumed lifetime (assume 15 billion years) and our average lifetime (assume 75 years), one year of seasons for us becomes for her roughly 0.16 seconds, and one day for us becomes 0.0004 seconds for her. Were humans living on her time scale, we would find a year a blink of an eye, and a day invisibly short. Fortunately, she notices both.

However, Mother Earth is not only quick. She has rhythms which are much longer than her rotation or revolution about the sun. Her polar ice caps and oceans grow, diminish, and expand again. She changes the lean of her spinning and so the polar axis, altering the seasons at every place on her skin. These rhythms can be quiescent for millennia, and then leap into a rapid tarantella. Today, we live in one of these energetic moments, in which the ice caps shrink or disappear entirely and the oceans rise. Some of this, this time, seems to be caused by human burning of fossil fuels, but she is still in control of her dance. The climate changes we are now witnessing are at the very least permitted and may be aided by her. In our dull-witted slaughter and plunder, she has cause.

Other long and large scale rhythms include the dance of continents, one consequence of which is earthquakes. As with her other rhythms, although we may believe that continents move very slowly, earthquakes' drumming are both rapid and dramatic. The movement and sound of this music we certainly witness. Geologists have long sought to perceive the pattern of this drumming, with very little success. Perhaps at the heart of their failure is their refusal to listen to her without their instruments. Other creatures do listen, with their bodies, and many of them can apparently anticipate the beginning and the character of quake harmonies. The formation of her sinuous rivers and the molding of her mountains, canyons, cliffs, valleys, basins, boulders and stones are long-waved as well, seen in part though not heard by us short-waved humans as carefully reconstructed geological history. Absent from these reconstructions are the vivid fluidity, sway and sound of any true dance, which she enjoys immensely but to which we are blind and deaf. What music is made by her vast interior of molten metal and other matter/waves is almost entirely unknown to humans. Greater by far than that of her waters, but perhaps similar in some of its movements, we are clearly not made to experience these stupendous symphonies, even though our own performance depends upon and derives from them. Smaller Water Rhythms Yet we can see and hear the music which contributes to some of these larger and usually slower rhythms. We can be moved, for instance, by her waters quick-dance. If you are privileged as I am to live near an ocean, you can witness daily and be physically and emotionally moved by the two most indisputable rhythms of her waters. Onshore waves sweep in to greet the land every few seconds, with irresistible grace and power, and seemingly without end. More tempered but equally persistent, the tides move in and out, on most shores twice each day. Even a novice will notice that these dances are not uniform. Some waves are smaller than others, and less often a much bigger wave will thunder against sand or stone. Surfers become intimately familiar with this variation. Some shores receive larger waves than others, depending upon the land's shape and location. The waves striking the north and west shores of Oahu island in the Hawaiian chain are famous for their roaring generosity. The tsunami is the most dramatic of onshore waves, sufficiently infrequent that most beachcombers or surfers never see one. This is not, presumably, a disappointment since were they onshore or in the shallows when it appeared, they would almost certainly be killed. Tsunamis are the offspring of deep ocean earthquakes or massive volcanic eruptions, carrying the shattering rhythms of the source hundreds and even thousands of miles distant. Like the rest of Mother Earth, tsunamis vary in the size and speed of the wave and the volume of water moved, responding to the strength of the earthquake or eruption, the distance the wave has traveled, the configuration of the receiving shoreline, and other elements. Some tsunamis reach shore at a height of 100 ft. or more; others are much smaller and cause less change. They all move toward shore at speeds much greater than normal waves. To us small and short-lived humans, the music of the tsunamis is visible, audible, and often singularly impressive.

The daily dance of the tides is equally inventive, though less dangerous. Astronomy and other scientific disciplines have concluded that tides are caused mainly by the gravitational effects of the moon and sun. Such effects are highly predictable so long as these two bodies together with Mother Earth are carefully constant in their largest rhythms. Over the last few hundred years, they have been. Even so, the actual rise and fall of oceans on any particular shore are strongly influenced by numerous factors in addition to moon and sun, including the undulations of the shoreline and near-shore channels. The near-shore wind is also a potent force in shaping tidal music. The result is that real, as opposed to theoretical, tides are music that is not only different from place to place and day to day, but also, like weather, elusive at any given place and time. Tide tables based upon a measured history are available for a relatively few points along the shores of Mother Earth, and the tables are forecasts only, though they may be good approximations in the absence of offshore storms or strong changes in atmospheric pressure. Estimates of nearby tides are less reliable; global warming will make all existing tidal histories, and the tables based upon them, increasingly irrelevant. Humans strolling along ocean shorelines, attending to the waters rather than tide tables, are likely to be much more successful in staying out of harm's way, enjoying their stroll and the singing of the sea. River Rhythms Currents of water flowing in one general direction without human interference, including ocean currents and fresh water rivers and streams free of dams, are rich in complex movements and sound, some extremely fast and strong, others more deliberate and less raucous. Ocean currents, essentially great salt water rivers in the midst of less clearly driven oceanic regions, are found across Mother Earth's water-dominant skin. Perhaps the most famous of these is the Gulf Stream, but a number of others have been witnessed, and used, by mariners of many cultures. The California Current is particularly important in determining the climate of the Los Angeles region, keeping it warmer in winter and cooler in summer. Seen globally, the most powerful of these currents are part of roughly circular, turning, dancing oceanic gyres. The California Current is the most easterly portion of the North Pacific Subtropical Gyre. Oceanographers have identified at least ten gyres, including the North Pacific Subpolar Gyre, the North Atlantic Subpolar Gyre, the North Atlantic Subtropical Gyre, the South Pacific Subtropical Gyre, the South Atlantic Subtropical Gyre, the Indian Ocean Subtropical Gyre and the Antarctic Circumpolar Gyre. In addition, these surface currents are part of a great continuous global Conveyor Belt which has deep sea as well as surface elements. This Belt links all the oceans in a single, extraordinary complex of rhythmic movement and submerged sound.

As with all her music, the oceans' present twirl and rumble are far from immutable. There is evidence that the major currents have been radically altered in the past, and some climatologists believe that another major change is imminent in the Conveyor and its participant gyres, this time a result of global warming. The consequent shift in regional climates, including Los Angeles, could require painful adjustments, exposing this region to much hotter summers and colder winters. A demise of the Gulf Stream would cool Northern Europe precipitously, and other areas would face their own weather challenges. When Mother Earth's salt water music is substantially altered, we will know it. Fresh-water rivers and streams in every region have their own rhythms and songs, both on and below the surface. They rise and fall according to the weather of the seasons, flooding and then waning or, in deserts and semi-arid regions, disappearing altogether, and then swelling suddenly to roaring potency. They move in rushing curves and drop in full-throated waterfalls, form loops and rapids and deep pools of misleading tranquility. Below the surface they spin and spiral and rush over rocks and other obstacles. They change courses, especially during their greatest floods. In Los Angeles, the San Gabriel and Los Angeles Rivers, now separate, once merged before reaching the sea, and at other times the Los Angeles moved not south, as now, but west into Santa Monica Bay. These rivers, as readers of this website should know, are now dammed and their music fractured. So are most other fresh water creations on this continent. The songs Mother Earth sets for them, she tells me, will soon be restored.

Visible Hard Rock Dances Pebbles, stones, rocks, boulders, cliffs and mountains are fashioned by Mother Earth in long waves over periods much greater than human lifetimes. Yet there are many moments, even seconds, in which these otherwise invisible dances become evident, alarming, and even terrible if we do not understand. These short bursts are part of their music, and their vibrations can have a radical effect upon us. Earthquakes are the most compelling of these bursts, especially those centered nearest the solid surface of Mother Earth's skin. But during a flood, or seashore storm, water-formed pebbles can not only be shifted considerable distances but can also be reshaped, though we may not see this until the surge subsides. Rocks and boulders can be affected as well, damaging or destroying human structures in their path. In winter, avalanches can have a similar effect, as can mud slides at lower elevations, both of which are fairly common in the Los Angeles region. While we may view this as chaos, it is not. It is intentionally crafted, richer and more harmonic than the most persuasive human pop concert or classical concerto. Most of us are simply without the culture to comprehend. Crystalline earth is also possessed of more modest, individual vibrations. The sun's heat and night's cool are the means to some of these subtle movements within apparently indifferent stone. Breathing in and out with the rotation of the planet, expanding and contracting for years or centuries in sympathy with their creator, at some point, seemingly unsignaled, its music becomes audible to us, as it cracks and subdivides, becoming two or more. This may lead to further movement, rolling, leaping and crashing down slopes until some other stubborn object brings the newborn crystal to a temporary rest. Boulders displaying this musical birth and death can leave a strong impression on any witnessing humans, though we may miss its harmonies.

Air Rhythms Mother Earth's atmosphere is another source of her music which humans culturally disconnected from wildness fail to grasp; but in order to survive and prosper, we must recognize daily its presence and power. As with most folk, since early childhood I have loved music formed by my species. What I heard and saw and smelled out of wildness I was not taught to think of as music, though I soon learned that human musicians have often been inspired by wild rhythms and sound. I have also shared with many other humans, of whatever age, a delight akin to that which I receive from the sound of brass, in the dance, hiss, howl and high whistle of a strong wind. Thunder and lightening have been not so much alarming as thrilling, filling me with a sympathetic, peripheral power, knowing that I could not hold its center and live. I have always enjoyed the lift and drop of tympanic drumming. When this music was provided on a more potent scale by wildness, I rejoiced but I did not know it as music. Now I do. At every level, local, regional and planetary, Mother Earth's air is always, every second, making music which would be emotionally accessible to us if we were only taught that it is thoughtful and mindful of us. For creatures of the sea, the oceans offer something similar, and because these creatures are aware of their own wildness, they may revel in such music. We think of the music of her air and seas as driven by natural laws which we strive to articulate, but without a sharing and communication resonant in ourselves. As a result, we suffer a terrible, perhaps fatal, emotional poverty. I urge you to feel anew the rise and fall of air temperature within each day, and from day to day. Feel the rhythm of clear blue skies and the inward drift of clouds, and then, fast or slow, their outward flow. Feel showers and heavy rains and their passing, the breezes and stronger air currents which accompany these and which also move in and out. Feel the sounds these make, and the audible shifts which are companions of changes from warm air to cool, present but usually unnoticed. Feel if you can that all of these speak to you as music, and are intended to.

Feel snow as music, not music that we can make, but other music of the Earth, played to please and challenge her creation, among whom we are numbered. Feel the terrific spin and roar of tornadoes as awful, wonderful, willful rhythms. Feel even hurricanes and cyclones, as enormous symphonies of Earth that are still small enough, and intimate enough, for us to see and hear. Feel lightening and its brother thunder as manifestations of other musicians, beyond our kin and yet our kin, performing knowingly. Feel this music as it seeks to open us to exchanges from which we have been barred, but which we desperately need. Bathe in the planet-wide trade winds dancing with ocean waves, thrown wide for the charm of all her sea-wise tropical creatures. Sway with the seasons, expressed to us through the air, cold, hot, wet, dry, swinging to a massive, light-footed tempo which is repeated over and over and yet infinitely variable, full of the unexpected. Feel global warming, ice ages, regions aflame and water rising, regions frozen, buried in crystal water, deadly and virtuous, her air the messenger of it all. This too is music, played on both long and short-waved wild instruments of her making. Are you not yet touched? Can you not recover that which so many like us have abandoned? You are part of this music. Watch, listen, share, and give a wild shout for joy. Carbon-Based Music Mother Earth's carbon-rich creatures which we call life are no less musical than water, stone, air, molten metal, or our planetary unity. Life shares with all of Mother Earth's creation the drumming which is beginning, being, ending, going out, reforming with others, and beginning again. This common drumming, so far as I know Earth's longest-waved musical theme, is not simple and has variations beyond our encompassing, no less than water and air (of which life is composed). In the case of life, for any single being, its fragment of this theme is short, lasting from less than a second to a few thousand years; but the variations are stunning and, I am tempted to say, infinite. Although we have special words to describe life's wave - birth, growth, maturation, aging, death, decay, ingestion, gestation, and birth - each species, and each member of each species, play it differently. A tiny portion of the resulting chorus is seen and heard by humans, in ourselves, in pets, gardens, parks, farms and in some wild creatures, in or outside of wilderness. Sometimes the wave is called the circle of life. It is not, however, a closed circle, but rather a profound enduring pulsing, and it is music, boundlessly rich both with harmonies and dissonance. Listen to something of Earth's carbonic creatures' music: The movement of soil as young tree seedlings push upward, the many wind-songs of their youth and maturity, the dance and crash of their falling; The waves and hisses of grasses excited by prairie winds, the fall to earth of their seed multitudes, the crackling and breaking of their dried stems; The wet ripple of whales and dolphins, the whip of hungry sharks, the bark of seals, the vast single and collective rhythmic sounds of sea-creatures from which our air-bound ears are forbidden;

The calls of ravens as they weave through currents of air or rest communing in willing trees; the huffs of hunting bears, night howls of moon-moved wolves, splashes of crocodiles slipping into comfortable rivers, thumping feet of fleeing elephants, rip of subdividing amoeba, buzz of hummingbird wings, liquid choruses of crickets and locusts; The creak of branches stirring in determined winds, bubbling of sycamore roots as they collide with rushing creeks, swish of disgruntled bushes disturbed by passing deer, waves born from the deathly undersea descent of broken coral. While there is a limit to carbon-based creation, and to its music within Mother Earth, that limit for us is inexpressible. It includes us and yet, so long as other carbonates are not driven to extinction, ranges beyond our knowing and our imagination's reach. Human Music The conventional definition of music adopted by humankind's current overriding culture requires either musical tools, the human voice, the moving, dancing human body, or some combination of these three. It is generally expected that this music will be made by humans with a measure of skill in the musical use of these instruments. Much of such music I love. Some of it I have performed, with saxophone, clarinet, bassoon or oboe and, as a singer, with my unaccompanied voice. Yet, as Mother Earth sees us, this is all simply an extension, sometimes wonderful, sometimes not, of the music she has made us to be. Whenever any of us move, forward and then back, no matter how great the interval between and no matter whether we hear it or not, we express our music. Whenever we are the origin of a sound wave, we make music. Our languages are music, as is our cooking, planting or gathering of food, walking, running, jumping, swimming, bending to lift a cup of water, hugging, and striking with our open hand or fist. But these and many other similar actions are external, easily witnessed, though usually unrecognized. Even more intimate and powerful is our internal music. The strongest pulses are the beating of our hearts, and the breathing of our lungs and diaphragms.

When for any one of us these stop, the human we have been ends. This alone makes us music, without which we do not exist. Arising from these is the intricate circling of our blood, moving out and in and out and in, little indispensable streams of intricate water carrying our rhythmic life force. There is also for women, in their youth, the estrus cycle, and the rhythms of pregnancy and labor, as well as the more durable pulse of sexual desire. For men there is the ejaculation of semen, its regeneration, and the next ejaculation, passionate, short-waved in youth, composed by our Mother to be in concert with equally passionate, desiring women, longer and finally extinguished in old age. For both there is the pursuit and possession of orgasm, the rise and fall of intellectual creativity, and for many the formation, maturation and dispersion of family. Human communities have similar though typically longer-waved dances of population and productive activity. This is all our music, done best when recognized, shared, and loved. Most important is our own participation in life's near-permanent wave, although we are falsely taught in L.A. and elsewhere that for each of us it begins with a single birth, and ends with a single death. This appalling myth, transparently untrue if we would but see, is at the center of our struggle to separate from Mother Earth. It is the essence of human foolishness. When we can again grasp that not only are we music, but that our music is but one tiny section of a whispering, lyrical, screaming, tragic, funny, joyful planetary symphony that began playing, with us, long before the human form was fashioned and will continue, with us, long after the human form has passed away, then we will begin to recover what portion of Mother Earth's wisdom is granted to us. Then we, and our music, will be truly liberated, its expression an incredibly simple ringing delight to us and to all the others. Bill Luttrell, one voice of Mother Earth