We see what music can do for people. Hell, we see what music does

“We see what music can do for people. Hell, we see what music does for us! When you see thousands of people out in front of you, it's fixing their lives. It's helping. It's healing. It's bigger than the inconvenience of jealousy or emotional storm clouds.” Thus spoke Nancy Wilson, voice and soul of the band Heart, whose music stirred millions and lifted them beyond despair. Her words are not mere reflections on performance, but a declaration of music’s sacred power—a force not bound by stage or fame, but reaching into the very soul of humanity. For in music, she saw not entertainment alone, but medicine, fire, and light.

The heart of her statement lies in this truth: music heals. It heals the wounds unseen, the sorrows unspoken, the despair too deep for words. In a world fractured by jealousy, envy, and personal storms, music rises like a greater tide, drowning out bitterness and carrying souls together into harmony. To play before thousands is not simply to sing, but to witness transformation: strangers joined in song, grief lifted, and hope reborn. Nancy’s voice reminds us that when music is given, it becomes larger than the artist, larger than pride or pain—it becomes a river that flows through all who listen.

The ancients, too, understood this mystery. In Greece, the very word mousikē meant not only sound, but the art of the Muses, a divine gift that shaped the soul. Plato wrote that the modes of music could form the character of men, turning them toward courage or gentleness, order or chaos. And when King Saul was tormented by dark spirits, it was the harp of David that brought him peace. Across ages and nations, the story is the same: music is no small thing. It is a power that fixes lives, helps, and heals, exactly as Wilson declared.

History gives us luminous examples. In the rubble of World War II, the great conductor Leonard Bernstein gathered musicians to perform Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony in Berlin. Among ruins and grief, the Ode to Joy rose, proclaiming hope to a shattered people. It was not politics or wealth that mended souls in that moment—it was music. So too in the dark days of the American Civil Rights Movement, when weary marchers lifted their voices in songs like We Shall Overcome. Those melodies healed their fear, strengthened their resolve, and bound them together in courage. The world was changed not only by speeches, but by songs.

Nancy’s words also strike at another truth: the storms of ego, envy, and jealousy are small when compared to the greatness of art’s mission. Artists may quarrel, emotions may flare, but when the stage is lit and the music flows, all such storms are swallowed by something greater. To create music is to serve something beyond the self. It is to stand as a vessel through which healing pours. The inconvenience of jealousy fades, for the purpose is higher: the lifting of souls, the renewal of hearts, the binding of humanity in shared sound.

The lesson, then, is clear: cherish the gift of music. Do not treat it as a passing amusement, but as a sacred well. Listen not only with your ears, but with your heart, for in the melody may lie your healing. If you are an artist, remember that your gift is not for yourself alone, but for others. If you are a listener, do not underestimate the power of song to restore your strength and remind you of beauty even in the darkest hour. Music is not escape—it is medicine.

So let us carry Wilson’s words like a hymn of truth: “It’s helping. It’s healing. It’s bigger.” For jealousy fades, storms pass, but the echo of music endures in the soul. Seek it when you are weary. Share it when others are broken. And above all, honor it as one of humanity’s greatest teachers. For when we give ourselves to music, we are not only entertained—we are restored, we are united, and we are made whole.