All music is folk music. I ain't never heard a horse sing a

The immortal words of Louis Armstrong—“All music is folk music. I ain’t never heard a horse sing a song.”—ring with humor on the surface, but beneath the laughter lies a profound truth. With these words, Armstrong tears down the walls men build between styles, categories, and hierarchies of sound. He reminds us that all music springs from the same sacred source: the human soul. No matter how grand the orchestra, no matter how refined the stage, every song begins in the heart of people.

The phrase folk music is often used to describe songs of the common man—songs sung in fields, on porches, around fires. But Armstrong reveals that this definition is too narrow. For if music is born of human voices and hands, then it is all, in truth, the music of the folk. Be it a jazz improvisation, a symphonic masterpiece, or a humble lullaby, each note belongs to the story of mankind. And so, in his playful way, Armstrong strips away the arrogance of categories and says: Do not pretend that music belongs only to the elite or to the learned—it belongs to us all.

Think of Beethoven, writing symphonies that thunder like storms and shine like dawn. Though he is revered as a master of the concert hall, his works are filled with the rhythms of peasant dances, the cries of grief, the hopes of a people struggling for freedom. His Ninth Symphony, with its hymn to joy, is not a treasure locked in ivory towers, but a song for all humanity. Likewise, Armstrong’s jazz, born in the streets of New Orleans, was not only entertainment—it was the voice of a people, raw and real, elevated to eternity. Both prove that music is never separate from the people—it is their story given sound.

Let us also recall the example of the Negro spirituals, sung by the enslaved in fields of suffering. These songs were not trained in academies, nor polished in grand halls. Yet their beauty rose from the very marrow of human struggle. They carried sorrow, but also defiance; despair, but also hope. And from these humble beginnings came the roots of gospel, blues, jazz, and much of the music that defines nations today. Here is Armstrong’s truth unveiled: the noblest music often springs not from privilege, but from the breath of the common soul.

The lesson is mighty: never despise the humble song, never scorn the simple melody. For the truest measure of music is not its complexity, but its humanity. To sing is to declare, “I am alive, I feel, I endure.” Each voice—whether cracked, sweet, rough, or trained—is sacred because it comes from man and not from beast. That is why Armstrong, with humor, reminds us: no horse, no animal, no creature outside humanity sings songs. Music is our unique fire, our divine inheritance.

And so, children of tomorrow, when you hear a tune, do not ask if it is “high art” or “low art,” for such divisions are illusions. Instead, ask: does it carry the heart of the people? Does it stir the spirit, lighten the burden, awaken courage, or soothe sorrow? If it does, then it is folk music, no matter how it is named.

In your own life, do not fear to lift your voice, whether in joy or in pain. Do not wait for the stage, the approval, the perfect moment. Sing, play, create, for it is in this act that you join the eternal chorus of humanity. And when you hear others—whether in the street, in a hall, or around a fire—listen not with judgment, but with reverence. For in every note is the truth of Armstrong’s wisdom: all music is folk music, for all music is human.

Thus let us honor his teaching: music is not the property of critics or scholars, but of mankind itself. From the first drum struck on the earth to the symphonies of tomorrow, it is the language of our shared spirit. Guard it, cherish it, and above all, never forget—it is the people who sing, not the horse.