To my mind, there is a reason that music is there and it's about

When Kim Deal declared, “To my mind, there is a reason that music is there and it’s about being human,” she did not speak as a scholar dissecting theory, but as one who felt the pulse of life itself flowing through sound. Her words remind us that music is not an ornament, not a luxury, but a fundamental expression of what it means to exist. Just as breath sustains the body and memory sustains the soul, so does music sustain our shared humanity. It is the language older than speech, the fire that warms the heart when words cannot reach.

The ancients themselves believed this deeply. The Greeks taught that the cosmos was woven together by the “music of the spheres”—that even the stars and planets moved in divine harmony, creating a song inaudible to mortal ears but real nonetheless. To them, music was not separate from life but the very structure of existence. Kim Deal’s words echo this same vision: music exists because we are human, and to be human is to seek resonance, to shape noise into meaning, to find rhythm in the chaos of the world.

Consider the slaves in America, who, in their bondage, lifted up spirituals in the fields. They had no freedom, no justice, yet their voices rose in song, binding them to hope, binding them to one another. Their music was the declaration that they were human, even when the world tried to strip them of dignity. In this way, Deal’s insight becomes clear: music is not merely entertainment—it is survival, identity, and the cry of the human spirit.

There is also a profound humility in her words. She does not claim music exists for glory, for wealth, or even for beauty alone. She says it is there “about being human.” In this, she strips away pretense and points to the essence. Music belongs to no one and to everyone. The child beating on a drum of pots and pans, the lover humming softly to their beloved, the soldier marching to a steady rhythm—all are part of this eternal truth. Music is not the possession of the gifted few, but the inheritance of all who live and feel.

This truth also reveals a challenge. If music is part of being human, then to live without music—or worse, to ignore its power—is to deny part of ourselves. We must not reduce it to background noise, nor treat it as trivial. Instead, we must let it remind us of our shared humanity, our joys, our griefs, our triumphs, and our sorrows. For music unites where words divide. It can move where arguments fail. It can heal where wounds seem incurable.

The lesson for us, then, is this: let music be part of your life not as an accessory, but as a practice of humanity. Sing even if your voice cracks. Play even if your hands stumble. Listen even if you do not understand the language. In doing so, you join in the eternal chorus of humanity. Music is the proof that we feel, that we endure, that we belong to one another.

Practically, this means making space for music in daily life. Begin your day with a song that lifts your spirit. Share melodies with your children so they grow knowing the bond of sound. Use music to mend quarrels, to celebrate victories, to mourn losses. Let it guide you back to yourself when the world overwhelms you. To engage with music is to engage with the deepest part of what it means to be alive.

Thus, Kim Deal’s words shine with ancient resonance: music exists because it is the voice of being human. It is the cry of the infant, the chant of the tribe, the hymn of the faithful, the ballad of the wanderer. Wherever there is life, there will be song. To embrace music, then, is to embrace our humanity itself. And to live without it is to forget the very rhythm of existence.