Kendrick Lamar and the Final Sound

     

School's Out.

  

It's been four months since my first blog post on the senses, and I still sit in the same "sea of smells" as before, although perhaps it’s a bit mustier. But, if I've learned anything, it's to appreciate the less pleasant sensations. A monolithic sensory palette is no palette at all, and as such, I wish to spend my last blog post meditating on a new sense, one with much more potential for linguistic expression: hearing.   

Around me, dozens of sounds swirl around my head. Heavy feet stomp from above, creaking the hundred-year-old wood. A door slams, followed by sharp, clear laughter reminiscent of wind chimes. Cars rumble alongside the buzz of crickets and thick summer heat. And in the distance, I hear the faint mumblings of Kendrick Lamar's new album. With sound, the unseen world becomes realized, and I find myself able to connect with it beyond my physical limitations. In this sense, I ground myself into a universal narrative of noise, through which each section — the pounding bass of footsteps, the thready harmonies of speeding cars — uniquely communicates their story. 

In a way, this thought is similar to Anne Rasmussen's explanation of the flexibility of lyrics within Indonesian Qur'anic recitation. For many Indonesian practitioners, the traditional Arabic script of the Qur'an is not an accessible language, yet, their desire to "have a dialogue with God" inspires them to find meaning elsewhere, not through translation but tonality (Rasmussen 119). The rising scale, elongated notes, and warbling melodies that define the "Arab aesthetic sensibilities" are not just decorative features meant to "beautify the word of God," but they also function as indicators of certain emotional motifs within the dialogue, like the Invocations of God (ex. bismillah) which are elongated and more nasally to display adoration and worship (Rasmussen 119).    

Every noise we make has a purpose. Every sound has the potential to communicate something powerful. The narrative of the world and even the narrative of God exist because of our potential to hear. But, life can get quite busy, and it becomes all too easy for us to isolate ourselves in a sensory deprived shell of stress and work, so I think, for one of my last college assignments, I shall put out a call to action for myself: take the time to sit and listen. 

You'll never know what you might hear.