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Earbuds Out! Staying Young With Nature's Moody Playlist

"Tonight while the lights are shinin' and the microphone is on, I'll play for you. So many will be the blessings and so short will be the time, I'll stay with you. But I'll play for you. I love you, yes I do. You can say that I'm your friend.

You can see my life begin and end. I'll always play for you."

("I'll Play for You," Seals and Crofts, 1975)



Nature's Moody Playlist - Images and videos courtesy of Laura Weber
Nature's Moody Playlist - Images and videos courtesy of Laura Weber

"Yeah, I'll play for you!" I had promised to play guitar for the great-nephs and nieces. What started as a tongue-in-cheek question turned into a tapestry of melancholic reflection about the natural soundscape. "So, can you play any songs, say, from the last twenty years or so?" my nephew (twenty years younger) quipped at a family gathering. We had a good laugh. He was talking about the mellow stuff on my acoustic guitar that he'd heard me play since back in the day. But what about a soundscape refresh? Had I moved into the present, musically? Or was I stuck in the 60s and 70s, when I first learned to play?



Aside from my overt bias for standards and "oldies" (a completely relative term), I feel a sense of nostalgia for old soundscapes, like anciently old. Earth Song. I love the song of wind through the trees, cicada symphonies, bee buzz, frog and owl-song, and ocean waves crashing along a coastal shore. John Denver's "Annie's Song" comes to mind. "You fill up my senses, like a night in the forest. Like the mountains in Springtime. Like a walk in the rain. Like a storm in the desert. Like a sleepy blue ocean. You fill up my senses. Come fill me again!"



There is nothing quite like a snowy soundscape in moonglow and starlight. Yes, it has a sound - the sound of wind whistling across crisp snow drifts as I wait breathlessly for whichever of my creature-kin may be stirring, coyote, wolf, or owl, maybe, depending on where I find myself. Even though my Huskies have been gone for years, I can still feel their breathwork, their vocalizing, in response to the cold, clear cadence of a winter night. It reverberates through my body, a soul-memory. I listen for that sound every winter because it's quieter, when Nature's symphony be heard.



Nature's symphony is being lost, her soundscape drowned out and eliminated. Even the definition of "harm" has been rescinded from the Endangered Species Act, bedrock of environmental protection since the 70s. Environmentalists are hoping to block the move, but it may be too late for some species on the brink of total annihilation. No harm? What is Life without the Sound of Nature's Music?



In the 80s and 90s, I was building my towers, not paying attention to "new" music. I taught university students, and began publishing, so as not to perish. I'm reminded of the "Once-ler" in Dr. Suess' story, The Lorax, very busy with my own heady pursuits. Thankfully, I had students to keep me young. They shared their musical playlists, digitized and personalized. A lot of it was LOUD. Some of it was beautiful, mesmerizing.


I had observed Millennials and later, Gen Zers for whom perennial listening devices were a signal to the world that the only sound they wanted to hear was what they chose at that moment. Headphones, then earbuds, constantly. Never a break, even in crowds, even with a friend, even to take a walk in the park, or a morning run. I grew weary of the sight of them, of what they indicated, and I began to suspect a solipsistic world-view was partly the cause. Of course, heavy metal, lots of synthesized bass, and later rap, with indecipherable lyrics (screamed at elevated volume) never really appealed to me. Still, there were excellent new genres and sounds that escaped me because it seemed foreign, too much noise for an over-stimulated central nervous system. "Take your earbuds out!" I remember thinking, as I saw students in the common green space on campus. They couldn't hear cardinals singing, or wood-peckers, or gentle breezes that provided the strings, bass, and woodwinds. What a shame.


I found living in the past, at least musically, was a balm for me. However, living in the past, whether musically, linguistically, in clothing and hairstyles, car models, communication habits, relationship preferences, diet, activities, even design styles can scream "old," "outdated," or hopelessly Luddite to a younger generation. "Keep up, Boomer!" I can hear the kids chiding me. "Just wait," I can hear my Mom say. "The old will be back in style if you wait long enough."



Indeed. Life seems to move in cycles. But if we only take refuge in the past, we are already decaying. We better prepare to be composted, and become something new in order to grow alongside our kin in the generational garden.


"Stay Young" is an old Don Williams' song I've played for years. "Oh, don't you lose that light in your eyes. You're never too old to love, it's never too late to try... Stay young; keep your wheels in motion. You've got everything that you need. Stay young with your rock-and-rollin'. All the best things in life are free." I've always loved the upbeat sentiment of those lyrics. In practice though, it's much easier to succumb to inertia and remain in the past. It's easier to "just wait," as Mom said, as though the present will somehow catch up with where we were fifty years ago, and vindicate our intransigence to change.



For many, the past is the only place that feels comfortable or safe. Retreating sometimes offers a sense of control, and we can regale our kids and grands with our wizened life experience: "When I was your age..." There is wisdom in hindsight, yes. We can share our love of the past, but living as though the past is ultimately preferable to the present moment takes us out of the only sense of Time that matters for Life right now, i.e., what's Real, Now. The potent, present moment. We can't make the present perfect by recreating the past. It doesn't exist. The only thing that is Real is Now. It's sacramental.


  • Eckhart Tolle put it this way, “Time isn’t precious at all, because it is an illusion. What you perceive as precious is not time but the one point that is out of time: the Now. That is precious indeed. The more you are focused on time—past and future—the more you miss the Now, the most precious thing there is.” (The Power of Now: A Guide to Spiritual Enlightenment, 1997)


  • Or, as spiritual author Tony De Mello advised, "Say goodbye to golden yesterdays, or your heart will never learn to love the present." (Anthony De Mello, S.J., Wellsprings: A Book of Spiritual Exercises, 1986) Spiritually grounded people will often model radical presence for this reason. To be in the presence of a wise one, we feel heard, seen, and known in the present moment. "I'm here for you" isn't just a trite pleasantry; it's palpable.


  • That arch-sage, Winnie-the-Pooh, seemed to understand: "What day is it?" asked Pooh. "It's today," squeaked Piglet. "My favorite day," said Pooh. (A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh, 1926) How many of us can say that? "Today is my favorite day."



Nature is one of the best teachers for staying young because Nature is fully present NOW. There is no need to coach Nature on how to adapt, how to change. Nature excels at living in the present moment, the wildly REAL. It's what singer-songwriter Peter Mayer called "The Holy Now."


You know when you're in the presence of some living being who is focusing completely undivided attention on you. Your beloved (hopefully) lavishes you with presence. A deer. A squirrel. Your canine-kin. Your favorite tree. Think of an infant completely entranced with her Mama. Think of yourself in a timeless embrace. You're in a sacramental moment. This moment, right now.


When we really pay attention, when we're living fully in this moment right now, we gift our own presence to the Life around us. All our antenna are up; red alert! We mirror Nature. Artists, poets and musicians would call this "being in the zone," or "in the Flow." We seldom give this gift of undivided self in our posthuman context, distracted and disintegrated as we are, in service to expediency above all. Living in the present moment - what Otto Scharmer at MIT calls "Presencing" - eludes us because we're not practicing it very often. Nature exemplifies Presencing. Living fully engaged right now is key, empowering us to adapt to Life all around and within us.


Nature changes and becomes new constantly. Babies grow so fast! Species adapt to many variables and threats, none more devastating than loss of habitat. A fawn might awaken within an evergreen grove, a thriving, seemingly stable ecosystem, and discover that what just yesterday served as safe habitat today has become a dead zone, plowed-under ruins destined for development. This is "harm," when viewed through the lens of wildlife. As forest ecologist Suzanne Simard has taught us, the mycelial (fungi) communities in a forest snag give rise to ever-evolving wildlife hotels, providing crucial ecological value by acting as foraging grounds for insects, rodents, and avian nesting cavities. Nature is constantly changing by necessity, and perfected by practice. We destroy Nature's home to the detriment of all Life in the biosphere, and at our own peril. Biodiversity loss includes all the wild-kin we eradicate. This is "harm."


"Look around you. Look up here. Take time to make time. Make time to be there. Look around. Be a part." (Little River Band, "Lady" 1978)


If we open our senses fully every day in Nature's embrace, we begin to notice how mellifluous Life is. How every natural being belongs, how everyone sings, ALL our relations. Listen to Earth's biophony (naturally generated sound). Acoustic ecology's history is rich with a changing soundscape as mass species

extinction, climate change, and an overbearing anthropophony (human-generated sound) drown out and eradicate Nature's chorus. There are very few naturally quiet places left in the planet. How can we hear everyone's voice? Nature is playing for us, but how can we hear the song?


Sam Lee's "Singing with the Nightingales" is a phenomenon because nightingales are rare, nearly extinct in his native UK. Who among us, cocooned in insulated walls most of our existence, can readily identify the song of the nightingale, or the meadowlark, or a barred owl? How can we hear cicadas, locusts, a gentle rainfall, or frog song above the din of traffic, industrial machinery, synthesized bass, and the omnipresent buzz of hyper-scale data centers, for example? Sonic booms and explosions of war, even "celebratory" fireworks decimate Nature's playlist. Our planet is deafening.



When she was older and growing deaf, Wolfie loved the gentle, natural vibrations from Earth, or my acoustical guitar rendition of "Wolfie Girl," to the tune of "Georgie Girl."
When she was older and growing deaf, Wolfie loved the gentle, natural vibrations from Earth, or my acoustical guitar rendition of "Wolfie Girl," to the tune of "Georgie Girl."

What if our human-generated soundscape serenaded Nature instead of pounding Nature to death, terrifying, traumatizing, and even destroying our kin with our cacophony. May we could change two letters: H-A-R-M to B-A-L-M? Check out the French singer, Plumes (Loris Assadian), who sings and plays for the animals! "Knocking on Heaven's Door"



So, maybe grow a Garden. Listen to it breathe and sing! A garden will never sing the same song day to day, hour to hour, moment to moment. A garden will teach us the art of Presencing. Nature evolves constantly, living at a graceful, generative pace, not hurried, harried, not rushing or pressuring like the rate of change of today's microprocessors. Slowly, Nature grows, gently inviting all Life in proximity to move in rhythm to this orchestral swell. Day to day, season to season, year to year, Nature's got a groove that updates every day. Her music tells the tale: "Be here now. Be gentle. Listen. Sing along."


If we can calibrate, keep pace when Nature invites us ("Take a dip, look, listen, play, love, nibble, feast, be still, relax!"), we can stay young.


To answer Nephew's question: Do I know some newer music? Yes, both natural and human-generated.


  • It's true. I love the folk and pop music of my youth, and older, like Mills Brothers and Ink Spots, Sinatra and Bennett, Nat King Cole, big bands like Glen Miller and County Basie's Orchestra, later Elvis and bobby-socks tunes, the Beach Boys, and even disco - ahem, Beegees! I love me some crooners and swooners, Johnny Mathis and Barbra Streisand, R & B, please, Ray Charles, and yep, some classical, Mozart, Beethoven, and Debussy. I prefer instrumental music for reflection, meditation, tai chi and yoga. Strings, woodwinds, and quiet.


  • I love the familiar music that inspired generations to embrace social and environmental justice, to change unjust systems of oppression and harm. Peter, Paul & Mary, The Mamas & The Papas, Simon & Garfunkel, The Beatles, Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, Jim Croce, Gordon Lightfoot, Bread, America, Chicago, The Eagles, Abba, and John Denver still populate my popular playlists. Coldplay and Billie Eilish have taken up that mantle lately.


  • Two other genres that seem weirdly disconnected, but beloved: Broadway Musicals and Country. My favorite composers of the Broadway genre are Rodgers and Hammerstein, Stephen Sondheim, and now Lin Manuel Miranda. I enjoyed country and western music in the 70s & 80s with the Statler Brothers, Dolly Parton, Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, Merle Haggard, Glen Campbell, Kathy Mattea, Clint Black, Ronny Milsap, The Gatlin Brothers, and Alabama, to name a few. I think any songs that have to do with flowing Rivers have me at "Hello." I'm a Deep River Woman; what can I say, Lionel?


  • I do enjoy some tunes from the last four decades, by the way. My slightly updated musical love includes some artists who have lasted a while or reinvented themselves, Nanci Griffith, Carole King, Cat Stevens/Yusuf Islam, Elton John, Paul Simon, Rod Stewart, James Taylor, Phil Collins, Annie Lennox, Supertramp, Journey, and Toto, too. I like 4 Non Blondes, and some "acoustic chill" like Jason Mraz and Jack Johnson. Anything jazz by Karrin Allyson, or eco-troubador, Sara Thomsen. Tiny Habits reminds me that "Small Enough" is a way through sorrow, through this posthuman era. And Lukas Nelson (who sounds SOOOOO much like his Dad, Willie) moves me to tears: "Turn Off the News and Build a Garden"



"Yes, I'll play for you! I love you, yes I do!" I feel like Nature is singing that to us! My favorite Music is still outside, where the hills are alive. (Thanks, Oscar.) Where there's Flow. Nature can provide a soundscape refresh - an ancient and ever-new playlist. Earth will always play for us. Now, if we can just

  • do no harm,

  • remove our earbuds,

  • quiet ourselves,

  • and listen.



 
 
 

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