Elevator music

I noticed three odd things when I recently walked into one of our large supermarkets. First, the lights were dimmed. Second, all the chilled displays (dairy products, meats and frozen goods) were either tarped or taped shut. Due to a nearby accident, the store had lost all its power and was running only essential things (like the checkout lanes) on generators. Finally, it was quiet except for "people chatter." There was no background music.

My culture has attuned me to having something “in the background” when I’m in a public place. It’s called “elevator music,” and though not confined to elevators, it’s any type of background music intended to please the subconscious.  Usually it’s an arrangement of some popular song, the genre depending on the location. My local mall’s teen fashion store assaults passersby with hard rock. The sounds coming from the manicure store are soft and comforting.

My husband mixes his own brand of “elevator music.”  He likes to have some sort of sound going all the time. The other night it was simultaneously baseball  on the TV and football on the radio. Other times it’s CDs or videos of old-time Gospel ensembles. He often sings along.

When I recently stepped in one of our local thrift shops, a cowboy tune twanged away with the usual plot of “My horse is lame and my woman is vain, and all the hills look the same.”  Some local hee-haw radio station was doing the honors.  When we’re driving somewhere,  either the radio or CD help the miles go faster.  The other afternoon, my husband tuned in a station that plays classical music.  As a sonorous cello piece filled the vehicle, he said, “That is absolutely beautiful.”  I was staring out the window, fighting tears because it really touched my classical-music-lover’s heart.

It’s been said that music can bring out either the beast or best in us. About forty miles from our home is a large outdoor amphitheater known for attracting pop and rock groups...and drugs and disorderly crowds. No, I’ve never been there. But there’s a pile of books next to our piano that reaches deeper into my heart the older I get. Thanks to years of exposure to Christian music, dozens, maybe hundreds, of hymns and choruses “elevate” my spirit. I only have to scan the index of titles or first lines, and snatches of their melodies send me to the page where I can read or sing the lyrics. Even with the memory losses of aging (we have our share of conversations that go like, “Who’s that lady whose husband is thin and I think the name starts with R”?), those melodic jewels of the faith are firmly fastened in my heart.

The other day, I was sad, very sad, over a difficult situation. Yet God seemed to be prompting me to turn my mourning into rejoicing. As I started about my household chores, I recognized a scripture chorus coming to mind. It’s one that combines three verses from psalms: one about entering His gates with thanksgiving (100:4), a second about rejoicing in the day He has made (118:9), and the third about rejoicing because He has made me glad (16:9). All the way through cleaning scrambled egg off the fry pan to treating clothing stains to mopping the floor, that persistent melody and its scriptural words stayed with in me.

My heart was lifted.  And that’s what I’d call true “elevate-her” music.