Recently I read a commentary that I assume was put together by a group of casual observers or maybe even a drunk in a bar. Let me put it this way, it did not come from the extensive research of academia.

The crux of this commentary was a list of things that are likely to go away in the not-too-distant future. Among them were post offices, telephone land lines to homes, books and music.

Now while I see some of the logic for such predictions, I would greatly disagree on the thing about music.

Music — like liquor and laughter — is universal. And while what we hear a lot of today may stretch the definition of music, it still utilizes the 12 notes of musicdom that were here in the beginning, and in my opinion will still be here when the universe collapses. As long as a mom will rock a baby, as long as a church choir will lift up praises, as long as a country boy can learn three-chords on a pawn-shop guitar and as long as people take showers … then there will be music.

Now when Buddy Holley was killed in that plane crash back in 1959, a songsmith declared that was “the day the music died.” We’ll it didn’t die. Those lyrics were just a metaphor describing the sadness of that tragedy.

Yesterday I made a long distance phone call, and while I was waiting for a warm body to acknowledge my desire to conduct business I listened to some of the worst classical music I had ever heard. The dominant instrument in this presentation was a violin. It was definitely not a fiddle.

Now I appreciate and often listen to classical music. It can be soothing, and it can facilitate a nap. But in this case it appeared someone took those aforementioned 12 notes and squeezed them through a sausage grinder. The last time I heard something similar to that, a cat had gone to sleep under the hood of my car.

Yet, to some this was music. And I defend their right to listen to it. It probably has to do with their roots.

I grew up on gospel, country and folk music. And today I still seek out the classical country and oldies rock stations when I’m traveling.

And while there is music I won’t listen to (some of the latter-day country songs sound more like chants) I can appreciate that some of the earliest primitive music was chants. Maybe we’re coming full circle. So I would not take a position that the music I don’t like is wrong. I would just say, “Let freedom sing.”

I think music is an expression of the soul. Some would say the same thing about painting. Music in some form is embraced by Democrats and Republicans, Christians and atheists, communists and capitalists, rural and city, rich and poor. And if there is life in other solar systems, my guess is that those 12 notes of musicdom are commonly cosmic.

Recently, a group of local talents got together and performed at our local Arts Center here in Moultrie. It was a “Salute to the Grand Ole Opry.” And it was wonderful. Three performances were packed. People clapped their hands, patted their feet and yelled with delight. It was a celebration of music and an appreciation of the people who so often make our days a little brighter because “some golden words rolled off someone’s tongue” in melodic fashion.

And while this is not an axiom of physics, let me state that there is animal, plant, mineral and music. When there is no music, there also we be none of those other things. There will be no us.

(Dwain Walden is editor/publisher of The Moultrie Observer. Email: dwain.walden@gaflnews.com)