Music is not a contest, it's not a competition, so giving out

The words of Dave Pirner, “Music is not a contest, it’s not a competition, so giving out trophies seems a little bit like the sporting world I left behind when I was a kid,” breathe forth a truth that has echoed since the dawn of creation. For music is not born from rivalry, nor does it grow from the soil of victory or defeat. It is not a race to be won, nor a battlefield to be conquered. Rather, it is the language of the soul, a divine current that flows from one heart to another. In it there is no foe, only communion; no prize, only expression; no conquest, only connection.

The ancients knew this well. When they gathered around the fire, their voices joined not to defeat one another but to unite the tribe, to give rhythm to labor, to sing joy into feast and courage into war. No elder lifted a trophy above another, for the song belonged to all. It was not measured in medals, but in the tears it stirred, the courage it inspired, and the peace it restored. Thus, Pirner’s words return us to an older wisdom: that music is not a sport to be judged, but a sacred offering to life itself.

Consider the story of Ludwig van Beethoven. Deafness crept upon him, threatening to silence the very gift that defined him. In a world that thirsted for contests and acclaim, his struggle could have been deemed a defeat. Yet Beethoven’s spirit did not write for trophies or applause; he wrote for eternity. The Ninth Symphony, born from silence, was not a victory over another musician, but a victory of the human spirit itself. When its “Ode to Joy” rang out, it was not the sound of competition but of communion—an anthem not of rivalry, but of universal brotherhood.

Pirner speaks, too, from his own journey, recalling the sporting fields of youth, where scores were kept and champions crowned. That world was left behind, because the art of music asks not, “Who is greater?” but rather, “What is true? What is beautiful? What is human?” In music, there is no enemy but silence, no opponent but the barriers within oneself. And when a song is sung or played, its worth cannot be weighed upon a scale, for it does not belong to judges—it belongs to every soul it touches.

This truth calls us to reflect on our own ways of living. How often do we turn life into a contest, measuring ourselves against others, seeking trophies that tarnish with time? But the wise understand: life, like music, is not about triumph over others, but the depth of our own expression. Your worth is not proven by medals, nor by applause, but by the sincerity of your song, by the truth of your being, and by the harmony you create in the world around you.

Therefore, take this lesson to heart: do not compare your melody with that of another. Sing it boldly, even if it trembles. Create not for acclaim, but because creation itself is sacred. If applause comes, receive it with gratitude, but do not mistake it for the essence of your art. And when you listen to others, do not judge as if in a contest—receive their offering with the humility of one who knows that every song adds to the great chorus of humanity.

Beloved, let us leave the trophies for the games of the body, and let us guard music as the food of the spirit. For in the end, no one shall remember who “won” the contests of art, but the songs that healed, inspired, and gave voice to the voiceless shall endure. So let your life be like music—unbound by rivalry, free from the burden of competition, and rich with the beauty that comes from giving your soul wholly to the world.