The Healing Power of Music: A Rewarding Performance

Anyone who has made or attempted to make a living pursuing their art knows it is far from the path of least resistance. At times, I have felt musicians have a thankless task and wondered where they fit into society. Are we merely entertainers, or is something more to it?

Every so often, I have a performance that affirms, in every way possible, my decision to do what I do for a living.

Many years ago, I received a call to perform for a gentleman hospitalized at the City of Hope. His girlfriend wanted to hire me as a surprise birthday present for her boyfriend, Turk. He was a jazz enthusiast, and she felt the live music would elevate his spirits. I suggested having an acoustic bassist accompany me. She agreed, so I hired a great bass player and friend, Jiro Plutschow.

Turk's girlfriend said she would not be present for the performance. Although she informed me that he was very sick and could not get out of bed, Jiro and I didn't realize his physical state until we arrived.

When a nurse directed us to Turk's room, we froze at first sight of him. His therapy had his lifeless body hooked up to various machines.

The nurse placed some pillows to prop him up so he could better see us. After we took out our instruments, I told him, "We are here to perform for you, a birthday present from your girlfriend. We sincerely hope you enjoy what you hear." After we finished the first song, Turk was in tears and asked the nurse to hand him his diary, one he had kept only after being admitted to the hospital.

I found maintaining my composure very difficult, but somehow I managed. Throughout the performance, Turk would write in his diary. Occasionally, he would stop writing to tell us about his illness and how he had not felt anywhere near as good as he did since being hospitalized four months earlier.

Other patients began gathering outside of Turk's room to listen. Words fail to describe the feeling I had. I never imagined that the music we were playing would have such an effect.

Before leaving Turk, we asked him to attend a performance when he was better. He smiled and promised he would. As much as I hoped I would look up one day during a performance and see him, a part of me felt this was the only time I would ever see him.

Two months later, my phone rang; it was Turk! He called to inform me that he was out of the hospital. He said our performance inspired him to get well enough to leave the hospital.

He asked when my next performance would be. I told him I had one the following Saturday. As you might have guessed, he fulfilled the promise he had made at the hospital.

Turk passed away six months later. Although his girlfriend did not inform me of his passing, a friend who had initially referred me to her did. My friend added that Turk's girlfriend felt the music was a large part of Turk's recovery. When we met Turk, the doctors expected him to live only another week or two. Despite these expectations, he lived for over half a year.

This experience taught me a valuable lesson: just because music cannot be measured in a laboratory does not take away from its potential as a healing agent for the body and spirit.