We often think of music as the product of individual genius: a composer, a lyricist, or a virtuoso. However, music rarely emerges in a vacuum. Music is a reflection of the soil it sprouts from, the air it breathes, and the streets of the city that hosts it.
Some cities are essentially the birth certificate of a music genre. When you mention the name of that city, a melody immediately comes to mind. This is not a coincidence. This is the deep and complex relationship between music and geography.
We can think of a city as an 'ecosystem' that creates music. Its architecture, social structure, economic conditions, immigrant population, and even its climate determine the DNA of the music that will emerge.
Why do we think of 'New Orleans' when we say 'Jazz'? Because at the end of the 19th century, New Orleans was the scene of an unparalleled cultural mix. This port city on the Mississippi River was a melting pot of African, European (French, Spanish), and Caribbean cultures.
African rhythms collided with European harmony, and church hymns with the blues, on the streets, in the bars, and even in the funeral processions (the famous 'jazz funerals') of this city. Jazz was the sound of that chaotic but creative energy, that humid air, and that river.
Consider Vienna. As the wealthy and stable capital of the Habsburg Empire for centuries, Vienna was the center of art and aristocracy. This wealth attracted composers like Mozart, Beethoven, and Strauss to the city.
The city was filled with opera houses, concert halls, and wealthy 'patrons' of the arts. Classical music and the waltz were the music of this magnificent architecture, that aristocratic order, and that wealth. It was the complete opposite of the raw energy of New Orleans.
Let's go to a more recent history, to Berlin in the late 1980s and early 90s. A city divided in two was suddenly reunited with the fall of the Berlin Wall. But this reunification created huge voids, abandoned buildings, and an area of 'lawlessness' on the city's east side.
These abandoned factories and basements became the sanctuary for a generation. This is where 'Techno' music was born, in these industrial, cold, and concrete spaces. The relentless, repetitive, and mechanical rhythm of techno was the soundtrack to that city's reunification pains, that concrete, and that search for freedom.
Can we think of Detroit's 'Motown' and 'Techno' separate from the city's industrial (car factories) past? The rhythmic sound of the machines in those factories was embedded in the foundation of the music made in that city.
Or Manchester, England. The post-punk and 'Madchester' scene in the 80s was fed by the city's gloomy, rainy weather and the economic hardships following the industrial decline. The melancholy of the music was a reflection of the city's sky.
A city's music isn't just 'made' there; it 'lives' there. Music affects that city's tourism, nightlife, and even its real estate prices. People travel thousands of miles to hear 'that' sound.
Today, initiatives like the 'Music Cities' network try to protect and develop the musical identities of these cities. Because when a city's music falls silent, a large part of its identity also becomes silent.
Radios are the ambassadors that carry the sounds of these cities to the world. When you turn on a radio station, you don't just hear a song; you also take a walk down a street in New Orleans, in a club in Berlin, or in a concert hall in Vienna.
Music is geography transformed into sound. If you want to understand the soul of a place, look at its architecture, read its history, and most importantly, listen to its music.
Cities compose; musicians just write down the notes of that composition.
