Music is more emotional than prose, more revolutionary than

Hear the daring words of Malcolm Wilson: “Music is more emotional than prose, more revolutionary than poetry. I’m not saying I’ve got the answers, just a lot of questions that I don’t hear other artists asking.” These words strike like a chord played upon the strings of the heart. They remind us that art does not live only in polished answers, but in the restless courage of questions. Wilson lifts music above other forms not to diminish them, but to proclaim its unmatched power to stir, to shake, to awaken. For where prose persuades and poetry illumines, music storms the gates of the soul.

The origin of this insight is as ancient as humanity itself. Long before the written word, before prose or poetry were carved upon tablets, people beat drums, blew flutes, and lifted their voices in song. The cry of the mother, the chant of the hunter, the wail of mourning, the hymn of victory—all were carried by sound. Music was humanity’s first revolution, binding tribes, igniting courage, summoning tears. It did what words alone could not: it spoke directly to the blood. Wilson’s claim rests on this eternal foundation, for music bypasses reason and touches the raw core of being.

Consider the story of Beethoven. Deaf, alone, stricken by despair, he might have surrendered to silence. Yet through the Ninth Symphony, he brought forth a revolution of hope. At its premiere, he could not hear the thunder of applause, but those present felt as though they had touched eternity. His music carried more than sound—it carried the spirit of humanity rising beyond suffering. No prose could have convinced so swiftly, no poetry could have rallied so universally. In one symphony, he reshaped the soul of Europe. This is the revolutionary fire Wilson invokes.

Yet Wilson tempers his boldness with humility: “I’m not saying I’ve got the answers, just questions.” Here lies another layer of wisdom. True artists are not prophets with final truths, but wanderers who ask what others dare not. Answers may comfort, but questions unsettle, provoke, and ignite change. When artists ask, “Why must it be this way? Could we not live otherwise?” they open the door to transformation. Music, with its raw force, can pose these questions not in debate, but in trembling chords that demand response.

This is why Wilson calls music “more revolutionary than poetry.” For poetry, though piercing, still depends on words, which must pass through the gate of thought. But music seizes the body before the mind can resist. It is the chant that rallies armies, the hymn that fuels resistance, the song that binds oppressed peoples in solidarity. Where speeches fail, where books gather dust, a melody can topple walls. History proves this, from the anthems of revolutions to the spirituals sung by the enslaved, carrying hope through unbearable chains.

The lesson, then, is twofold. First, honor the unique power of music—do not treat it as mere entertainment, but as a force of spirit. Second, embrace the role of the artist not as one who answers neatly, but as one who questions bravely. To create is to ask: What is hidden? What is unjust? What must we feel, though we fear to feel it? These questions, carried on sound, can stir nations. Wilson’s voice reminds us that the artist’s task is not to provide comfort, but to awaken.

In practice, let us act. Listen to music not only with your ears but with your heart—ask what questions it raises in you. If you create, dare to weave your own doubts, your own longings, into your art, instead of chasing perfect answers. Study the hymns of freedom, the anthems of justice, the laments of sorrow, and see how they shaped history more swiftly than speeches or treatises. Let your art, whether in notes, lines, or words, become a question that refuses to be ignored.

Thus the teaching endures: music is the fire that reaches deeper than prose, the storm that shakes more fiercely than poetry. And the true artist is not the one who claims certainty, but the one who dares to ask in song what others remain silent about. If you take up this calling, your art may not provide answers, but it will awaken souls—and that awakening is the beginning of every revolution.