The Generosity of Music

Towards the end of 2025, it occurred to me that music may be one of the most generous things left in this world.

People all over the world struggle to get their basic needs met. Even things as fundamental as air to breathe, water to drink, and a sense of safety are not guaranteed. The cost of simply existing continues to rise.

And yet—one thing has quietly become almost free: music.

We no longer need a CD, a cassette, or an LP. We don’t even need a special device. With a phone in our pocket, we can call up almost any music we want, anytime.
(If you had told me this a couple of decades ago, I’m not sure I would have believed you.)

What this means for musicians—especially those who are not superstars—is complicated, and worth its own conversation. But for now, I want to stay with the generosity of music itself.

The ability to listen to music is available to the very rich and the very poor.
To the young and the old.
Across borders, languages, and circumstances.

In a world marked by so much injustice and imbalance, I find myself asking:
How can it be that one of the most precious human creations is free and accessible to almost everyone?

Music sings to the happy and the sad—but perhaps it is more precious to the sad.
Music sings to the wealthy and the poor—but perhaps it means more to the one who needs comfort, who needs time to pass more gently, who needs their inner life to feel seen.

Music gives itself to all.
It allows itself to be the quiet background of one person’s life, and the lifeline—the hero—of another.

As I head into a season of rest and recovery this month, I’m holding this generosity of music close. Not as something to master or improve, but as something to receive.

However music shows up in your life right now—as a listener, a player, or simply a companion—I hope it meets you where you are.