Music For the Unsung

A celebration of music, and of those who chirp to their own tune.

Sing, sing a song
Make it simple to last
Your whole life long
Don't worry that it's not
Good enough for anyone
Else to hear
Just sing, sing a song.

The Carpenters

Photo by Felix Koutchinski on Unsplash

I have recently been contemplating the power of music and song. For our spring Anniversary (20th) Frank and I gifted ourselves a new stereo system with speakers throughout the house. This investment (a “smart” creature with Bluetooth, wifi, etc.), was purchased, ironically, to lead us away from our digital music habits - back to our beloved old media which includes CDs, cassettes, and albums.

Being a librarian with a background in media and publishing, it should be no surprise that our home contains a vast collection of old media. Books, maps, working manual typewriters, vintage cameras, floppy discs (and working players), VHS tapes (and working players). If I were to guesstimate, I would say 65-70% of our furniture is also “antiquey.” Not because we curated any of it, but because most of it came to us second-hand.

I’m a thrift shopper, a saver of undervalued and under-appreciated items, and a journalist/writer with an inner resentment for most “new” media. (Hmmm. I think I just wrote my new social media byline…)

When we bought our smart stereo in May, I ventured through cobwebs, crickets, and oversized dust bunnies to bring my old music back into the light. My sister’s albums from the ’70s, my Mother’s vinyl Christmas music. Every band concert I ever played in collected on cassette, all my 80’s “mix tapes,” my high school boyfriend’s rock and roll rehearsals, my father’s funeral service—recorded for posterity by the church, never played.

I have spent more time singing and dancing since, music blaring out the doors and windows of our home and in my car as well. It’s good for the soul. Sometimes, I do not know how I ever survived without it.

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“The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation, and go to the grave with the song still in them.”

Henry David Thoreau is one of my favorite American authors. His words concerning men living lives of “quiet desperation” are referenced often. In our country’s current condition, I am sure Americans have truly come to understand quiet desperation. The pandemic provided the interruption in our lives that forced us to consider other options. But the second half of the quote haunts me more: “and go to the grave with the song still in them.”

Just as I am troubled by earrings made from manual typewriter keys and undeveloped film, I am troubled by songs unsung. I have to admit, my own ego tells me that I am an unsung hero in my own story, that I am not “celebrated or praised” as much as I feel I should. Don’t we all feel underappreciated at times?

Unsung is something different.

We tend to think of “unsung” people as those who have not been properly applauded for good works. But when we examine unsung’s synonyms, (nameless, no-name, noteless, obscure, uncelebrated, unfamous, unknown, unrecognized) we find the ones Thoreau refers to, the ones who die with their song still inside them, never knowing they could sing, or screaming to be heard, or only ever managing a timid whisper of a verse. This is a chorus unheard in our country, made up of those who fall through the cracks.

And yet, more and more Americans are singing. They’re marching to the beats of their own drums, making their own music. They’re writing, painting, dancing, doing their own thing. They live in in between the algorithms, and don’t care about the online orchestra playing. There are birds out there oblivious to any cages the rest of us have come to accept as normal.

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"Sing" is a 1971 song written by Joe Raposo for the children's television show Sesame Street as its signature song. In 1973, it gained popularity when performed by Carpenters, a #3 hit on the Billboard Hot 100. It appeared as the debut single on the group's 1973 album Now & Then. And yes, I have it, on vinyl.

In 1971, I was four. I had a crush on Ernie and favored Snufalupagus. By 1973, I was six, and “Sing” was my most favorite song in the world. Lily Tomlin sang and signed the song to a group of deaf children on Sesame Street in 1975. I’m confident the song was an early contribution to my outlook on life since then.

Clearly, it has affected many the same, having been publicly performed by such great voices as Lena Horne, Ruth Buzzi, Nathan Lane, Denyce Graves, Gloria Estefan, Patti LaBelle, Ben Stiller, Maya Angelou, Fran Drescher, Garth Brooks, Doug E. Doug, Vanessa Williams, R.E.M., Rosemary Clooney and Conan O'Brien.

Sing, sing a song
Sing out loud, sing out strong
Sing of good things not bad
Sing of happy not sad

Sing, sing a song
Make it simple to last your whole life long
Don't worry that it's not good enough
For anyone else to hear
Just sing, sing a song

Sing, sing a song
Let the world sing along
Sing of love there could be
Sing for you and for me

Sing, sing a song
Make it simple to last your whole life long
Don't worry that it's not good enough
For anyone else to hear
Just sing, sing a song

This year, I have embraced the therapeutic power of song, singing, music, and dance. While the news talks about folks who are “quietly quitting,” I simply see people redirecting their energy. In this post-pandemic era, in the center of Appalachia, in real life, there are unsung people dancing in the rain. Those who refuse the quiet desperation, those who are rediscovering the music of life. Those who are experiencing a renaissance.

Let the world sing along.

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