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Music as a vehicle for cultural expression

This example is a common app essay that conveys how music can be used as a critical vehicle for cultural exchange. The essay writer recounts an encounter with their neighbor. Mr. Santos who introduces him to Bolivian culture through the medium of music. He uses a personal narrative to convey an authentic tone that represents their personality and values. In doing so, the narrative illustrates how music can transcend both cultural and language barriers. This example is significant because it conveys the value of celebrating cultural diversity and identity and the relevance of music to this process.

September 26, 2024

* The sample essays are for browsing purposes only and are not to be submitted as original work to avoid issues with plagiarism.

Surname 1

Student’s Name

Professor’s Name

Course

Date

Music as a Vehicle for Cultural Expression

It was July, and I had gotten into a routine of playing guitar in the late afternoon,

allowing the melodies to drift through my open window as the summer breeze filled my room.

On this particular day, about to strum my first chord, I stopped. Instead of my usual playlist, I

caught the beat of a rhythm I had never heard. It was a strange, yet inviting sound; a fast, lilting

melody carrying a life in the sound waves that kept me rooted to the spot I was in. I could not

resist the appeal of that sound and just followed it down the street. Closer, I found my neighbor,

Mr. Santos, sitting on his porch playing some instrument that looked quite unfamiliar to me. It

was small, made of wood, with five double strings humming some strange resonance. I hesitated

a moment before calling out to him. He looked up, smiled and replied, "Es un charango. It's from

Bolivia." He gestured me closer, and I sat down beside him on the steps.

The music came easy from his fingers. The sound of the charango curled around us like a

story waiting to spill out. "That's how we celebrate our festivals in the mountains. The charango

is like the heart of the Andes," he said between songs. He played something entitled Carnavalito,

and, not understanding the words, the rhythm told me of joy, of tradition, of something infinitely

deeper. For the first time, music was not a series of notes and chords; it was a story. A way of

relaying history, identity, and belonging. Over the next few weeks, I would always find myself

drawn to Mr. Santos's porch. We never really spoke that much to each other, and that did not

Surname 2

matter because language was not a barrier. The melodies substituted conversations we could not

have. He was teaching me how to play a few songs, his fingers dancing nimbly across the strings

of the charango while he patiently explained the meaning of each. One song was dedicated to

Pachamama, the Earth goddess, and how Bolivians give a tribute to her in regard to the harvest

season. The second one talked about their fight for independence; the rhythm carried pride and

pain.

Through him, I came to know of Bolivia. Its towering mountains, struggles for freedom,

exuberant festivals, and rich traditions. His songs were windows to an unknown world from

which suddenly the connection was born. As he played, I could almost smell the chaotic markets

of La Paz teeming with an explosion of colorful textiles and fresh-roasted coffee. I envisioned

the sweeping landscapes of the Altiplano, the hard blue sky stretching out endlessly across the

high plains. At home, I started to play my guitar, using the rhythm of the charango mixed with

the rock and blues I had been practicing for years. The more I played, the more I realized how

music can amalgamate cultures and ideas. My guitar was no longer confined to the sound of the

rock bands I admired but a tool for exploration, a way to bridge different worlds much as Mr.

Santos' charango had done for me.

That summer, I spent more time with Mr. Santos than with most people in my

neighborhood. I would bring my guitar over to his porch, sharing music with him over strong

coffee. He would play traditional Andean songs; I would show him riffs I had written. Other than

music, we rarely spoke of anything, but in those shared moments, I knew more about him than

words could show. His music was the only connection he had to home, to family, and to

memories long past. For him, the charango was more than just a musical instrument; it was a

Surname 3

lifeline to his culture. And for me, those musical exchanges became a lesson in understanding

how music could carry within it something of who we were.

In retrospect, that summer really shaped my outlook on music and culture. Music no

longer was a source of entertainment or a time passer. Now, it made complete sense as a medium

of expression wherein history, identity, and emotion were conveyed. Every time the guitar

strummed or a charango hummed, I did not think about the two as separate worlds anymore. I

thought of these threads in one global tapestry, every note reflecting not just the people but their

stories.

This realization did not only shift my approach toward music, but also influenced how I

interact with others. I have now come to realize that each song, each rhythm carries with it a

piece of someone's culture, their story, their way of looking at the world. And that is the power of

music in all its forms; to connect us, to bridge divides, to celebrate our differences, and to remind

us of our common humanity. It is in the strum of an Andean charango or my own guitar in my

room that when we play, much more than sound is shared. We are sharing stories.

September 26, 2024

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Academic level:

High school

Type of paper:

Common app essay

Discipline:

Music

Citation:

MLA

Pages:

3 (825 words)