One of the things I love about music is live performance.

“One of the things I love about music is live performance.” Thus spoke Yo-Yo Ma, master of the cello and servant of humanity’s deepest harmonies. His words are simple, yet behind them lies the heart of what makes music divine: that it is not only sound, but a living encounter, an exchange of spirit between the one who plays and the one who listens. In live performance, the notes are not frozen in time as in a recording, but born anew in the very breath of the moment, fragile yet eternal.

The ancients too knew this mystery. In the temples of Greece, songs were sung to the gods not for preservation but for presence. The sound of the lyre, the chant of the priest, the chorus of the people—these were offered in the moment, never to be repeated in the same way. The Druids, the shamans, the griots of Africa, all understood that live music was a sacred act, summoning power and memory that could not be captured or caged. In this way, Yo-Yo Ma speaks not as a modern musician alone, but as an heir to the timeless tradition of live song as a holy encounter.

In his own life, this truth has been proven again and again. Yo-Yo Ma has played in the grandest halls of the world, yet he has also brought his cello to schools, to small villages, even to refugee camps. Why? Because in the live performance, music becomes a bridge—connecting human to human, breaking down barriers of language, culture, or belief. A recording may move the heart, but a performance unites souls in one shared moment of truth, never to be repeated again in all the ages of the world.

History gives us many examples of the power of such performances. When Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony was first played, with the deaf composer himself conducting, the audience erupted in tears and thunderous applause. That night, the music was more than notes—it was defiance of fate, the triumph of spirit over silence. Or recall the great Marian Anderson, who sang before the Lincoln Memorial in 1939 when the doors of Constitution Hall were closed to her because of her race. Her live voice, echoing across the steps, became not only music but history, a hymn to justice itself.

The lesson in Yo-Yo Ma’s words is clear: do not treat music as mere background or consumption. Seek the live performance, where you can feel the trembling of the strings, the breath of the singer, the energy of a room bound together in a single heartbeat. For it is here, in the living act, that music becomes not entertainment but communion, not sound but spirit.

O children of tomorrow, remember this truth: each performance is a once-in-a-lifetime gift. No note, no phrase, no silence will ever be the same again. Treasure these moments. Be present, not distracted. Open your soul to the experience, for in that shared space, you encounter not only the artist but the deepest parts of yourself reflected back in sound.

In practice, seek opportunities to share in live performance—whether in grand halls, in small gatherings, or even in the simplest circle of friends. If you are a musician, play not only for perfection but for presence, knowing that each note you give is a thread in the sacred tapestry of the moment. If you are a listener, listen with reverence, with openness, with gratitude. For what happens in the living breath of performance can never again be repeated, yet it lives forever in memory.

Thus Yo-Yo Ma’s words endure: the love of music is the love of live performance. For in the moment of sharing, sound becomes spirit, and music becomes life itself—an eternal reminder that beauty is not in what is stored away, but in what is lived together.