Music is great; it all depends on what mood you're in, what you

In the words of Tom Jones, “Music is great; it all depends on what mood you’re in, what you want to listen to. If it’s party time, you listen to, you know, party music, if you want to dance with somebody. But then again, if it’s a slow dance, you need something slow.” Here, the singer does not speak merely of music, but of the harmony between soul and sound, between the moods of man and the melodies that echo across his heart. He reminds us that life itself has rhythms, some filled with the fire of celebration, others with the gentleness of longing. Music is not one thing fixed and rigid—it is a mirror of the ever-changing human spirit.

In the style of the ancients, one might say: “As the river flows sometimes swift and rushing, sometimes calm and reflective, so too must the song change to accompany its waters.” The wisdom of Jones is simple yet profound: every emotion has its own song, and every gathering, its proper rhythm. To force merriment upon a grieving soul is to break harmony, and to bring lament into a feast is to quench the fire of joy. Thus, music must be chosen with discernment, like a physician who prescribes the right medicine for the ailment of the heart.

Consider, as a living example, the night when soldiers returned from the Second World War. In the great halls where they were welcomed home, bands struck up lively tunes, and the people danced with fervor, rejoicing that their beloved ones had returned. Yet, not all hearts were ready to leap. Some who had lost brothers and sons swayed instead to slow hymns, finding solace in gentler harmonies. Both kinds of music were needed—for where one spirit required thunderous joy, another needed quiet healing. The moment itself demanded a spectrum of sound, proving Tom Jones’ wisdom true across time.

Music, in truth, has always been the unseen companion of mankind. The ancients themselves—whether Greeks singing hymns to Apollo or Hebrews lifting psalms to their God—understood that every mood calls forth its rightful song. When Achilles mourned Patroclus, he did not summon the lyre for feasting, but cried to the heavens with dirges of sorrow. Yet, in the feasts of kings, drums and flutes proclaimed victory and inspired strength. The choice of music has always been sacred, and to ignore the mood is to dishonor both the listener and the song itself.

The lesson here is twofold: First, that music is not to be treated lightly, as if all songs were alike; second, that we ourselves must cultivate the wisdom to match what we hear with what we feel. To live with awareness of mood and melody is to live with harmony. Just as a man would not wear mourning robes to a wedding, nor laughter to a funeral, so too must he select his music with reverence for the moment.

Therefore, let us be practical: when your spirit feels weighed by sorrow, do not run to the pounding drums of revelry; instead, grant yourself the embrace of gentle songs that cradle the soul. When your heart is aflame with joy, let not your ears be shackled by silence, but pour forth with festive rhythms that stir the body to movement. And when you wish to share love, seek the slow melodies that allow closeness and communion.

Above all, remember this: music is the voice of the unseen within you. It is the language of your moods, the companion of your joys, the healer of your wounds. To live wisely is to listen carefully, and to choose with intention. Let the right song guide your spirit as faithfully as the North Star guides the traveler. Then shall your days be filled with harmony, and your nights with peace.