A lovely essay. Thank you. My father sang "You Are My Sunshine" to me--each one of my children claimed their "own" lullaby--"Michael Row Your Boat Ashore," a song with the lyric "Paw-Paw Patch", "Little Brown Dog," and "Mockingbird," respectively. I have no idea why, and that's part of the deep mystery of singing in the dark, by a mother who can't sing....my youngest is now a teenager, and sometimes after a long day when I say goodnight I still still her song to her, and despite how much she knows now too about the troubled world, she goes to sleep. I think it soothes us both.
3
As my mother lay unconscious and dying in the ICU, my sisters and I gathered around the bed and sang her the Spanish lullaby she sang to us as babies. That is maybe the most authentic moment I've ever experienced in my life. I know she heard us. She passed a few hours after that.
9
My parents sang me a song, whose roots I don't know, called Blanket Bay. My mother rarely sang as she felt unable, but my father was a musician. She wrote of her delight when I wanted her,and only her, to sing me to sleep. They're both long gone, and I wish I knew the origin of that song .
1
When my children were little, I sang songs I'd heard as a child, and they came up with new names for them. "Night Herding Song," in which a cowboy sings to motherless calves--dogies--became "Slow Doggies," and "Annie Laurie" became "Max," the first syllable of the song.
For some reason, I didn't think of singing "Morningtown Ride" until my first grandchild arrived in the Bay Area, where it was written. She liked it, and now it's my husband's and my favorite--if you ever want to feel comforted, just sing it or listen to The Seekers sing it. But she's moved on; now her favorite is "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot." Lots of songs not written as lullabies work, too.
For some reason, I didn't think of singing "Morningtown Ride" until my first grandchild arrived in the Bay Area, where it was written. She liked it, and now it's my husband's and my favorite--if you ever want to feel comforted, just sing it or listen to The Seekers sing it. But she's moved on; now her favorite is "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot." Lots of songs not written as lullabies work, too.
1
I still remember my grandmother singing "Beautiful beautiful brown eyes" and my granddaughter also has those beautiful brown eyes, and I sing to her. I sing the sad verse too. I cannot carry a tune, but I sing sing sing to my granddaughter and she loves it. I even have to sing to her dolls.
3
Joan Baez once recorded a lullaby, "Gabriel and Me," that I always intended to use as "our lullaby" when I had children. Yet the lullaby that quieted a fussy 3 year old with autism was "Hush little baby, don't say a word, Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird." I would sing it for an hour straight sometimes, but her Papa got some rest, and we all got a quieter, calmer toddler.
2
My father used to sing to our daughters. I do not recall any singing to me by him, but they dozed to his totally tuneless composition that went: "Got to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep...." You get the idea. My mother used to sing a song called "Little owlet, baby owlet..." Recently the girls wanted to know where to find all the words. Imbedded, indeed.
2
I've a true story here. My son had been born and it was, if I recall correctly, his first night "on the outside" The nurses were performing the obligatory checks of everything there was to check on him...and on me.
One of the things they did was to check his blood. I remember, the nurse jabbed his fat little foot with an instrument to take the blood and he gave with roar! Poor baby.
Now I had been singing two songs to him once a day, during his time on the inside. I guess he'd hear my heartbeat, and my blood coursing as well as these tunes---since I assume the words meant zip to him. One of the songs was the old "If You Were Mine" and the other was "In The Blue Of Evening"
Here's the thing---When he began to cry after the nurse jabbed his foot, I leaned over him and began to sing "If You Were Mine" to him...and I kid you not...the crying STOPPED. Right then. Right there. So I'm guessing those songs, which had been with him from the beginning of his personal forever, made an impact.
One of the things they did was to check his blood. I remember, the nurse jabbed his fat little foot with an instrument to take the blood and he gave with roar! Poor baby.
Now I had been singing two songs to him once a day, during his time on the inside. I guess he'd hear my heartbeat, and my blood coursing as well as these tunes---since I assume the words meant zip to him. One of the songs was the old "If You Were Mine" and the other was "In The Blue Of Evening"
Here's the thing---When he began to cry after the nurse jabbed his foot, I leaned over him and began to sing "If You Were Mine" to him...and I kid you not...the crying STOPPED. Right then. Right there. So I'm guessing those songs, which had been with him from the beginning of his personal forever, made an impact.
7
I used to sing everything under the sun to my girls at bedtime. But I would always sing Brahm's lullaby last just before they went to sleep. It really doesn't matter what you sing....just sing to your kids and read to your kids and talk to your kids and love your kids.
3
Long before I had children, I collected lullabies because I was a singer, and I loved them. Then I sang the song my mother sang to me--"Long Long Trail," the World War I song her father sang to her--to my children, and then, to my mother, when she was dying. My daughters sing "Walk Shepherdess" when they come home at Christmas. Now I save the lullabies I have for my friend's baby, and hope to sing them one day to grandchildren.
Wonderful article.
Wonderful article.
1
My favorites are Miriam Makeba's "Mallika" and Brahm's lullaby
OF FAR GRATER MYSTERY . . .
...is life itself period ... the entire realm of unanswered questions which we always will wonder about.
...is life itself period ... the entire realm of unanswered questions which we always will wonder about.
2
Billy Joel wrote a wonderful lullabye that sadly few people seem to remember, called "Good night my Angel". I love it and I try to sing it, but I can never get through it without crying. Hits that sweet spot between the immense love we feel for our children and the sadness that comes with knowing they inevitably will grow up and we will get old.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dcnd55tLCv8
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dcnd55tLCv8
3
Little Boy (2004, WW)
Oh my little boy, goodnight.
Lay your sleepy head, don’t fight.
It’s time for bed.
Oh my little boy, you know
Everywhere you go, we’re here to protect you
From harm.
Oh my little boy, you see
All you can be, is waiting for you
Ohhh, ohhh…
But, now, little boy, you’re here
Mommy and Daddy are near
So go to sleep.
Oh my little boy, goodnight.
Lay your sleepy head, don’t fight.
It’s time for bed.
Oh my little boy, you know
Everywhere you go, we’re here to protect you
From harm.
Oh my little boy, you see
All you can be, is waiting for you
Ohhh, ohhh…
But, now, little boy, you’re here
Mommy and Daddy are near
So go to sleep.
2
For me, my children are rabbits I've adopted from rescue shelters. They also love to be sung to - getting peaceful, their eyes fixed on me, heart rate decreasing, but restless when the singing stops.They bond to their "parent."
2
This is deeply moving to me. When I was 28, I escaped to a shelter with my 7-month old infant to avoid increasingly violent beatings from my then-husband. I created a little bed for her using a mattress with rolled-up blankets around the edges, and she slept holding my hand on her tummy. I’d invented a very simple lullaby, using her name, to the tune of “Edelweiss.” The power of song to open up a channel straight from my heart to hers was amazing.
We only stayed in the shelter only a few weeks, but I will never forget that blissful feeling of peace, knowing we could sleep at last without being afraid. I never looked back; I was very blessed to finish college, and now my 13-year old has a peaceful life, free from violence, although of course it can be stressful and lonely for both of us since I work a lot.
I still sing to her often, and when she is especially in need of comfort, she asks me to sing “her” special lullaby, and indeed it is only for her—an intimate, private thread between our souls. It has helped to bond, heal, and strengthen both of us. My heart goes out to these dedicated mothers, and I am very humbled remembering where I have come from. Thank you to all the musicians, and to Ms. Galchen, for giving us this beautiful work of art.
We only stayed in the shelter only a few weeks, but I will never forget that blissful feeling of peace, knowing we could sleep at last without being afraid. I never looked back; I was very blessed to finish college, and now my 13-year old has a peaceful life, free from violence, although of course it can be stressful and lonely for both of us since I work a lot.
I still sing to her often, and when she is especially in need of comfort, she asks me to sing “her” special lullaby, and indeed it is only for her—an intimate, private thread between our souls. It has helped to bond, heal, and strengthen both of us. My heart goes out to these dedicated mothers, and I am very humbled remembering where I have come from. Thank you to all the musicians, and to Ms. Galchen, for giving us this beautiful work of art.
48
My goodness, your comment made me cry. You are one courageous woman. I wish you and your daughter a long and happy life together and all the best for the future.
15
How proud you made me feel of being a woman and a mother of two sons. Music has shaped our bond in a very special way.
The dominant female voice gradually waned to leave room for the toddler, then the child and finally the singer.
Music has been a balm to the sleepy souls, a language learning tool, a key to their ancestry, a window to different cultures. The language of love and understanding. Our daily bread. The air we breathe.
The two men now lead independent lives. Yet music has never ceased to be their daily bread, their unconditional love and inexhaustible well of spiritual enlightenment.
Your piece makes a powerful case for the transformative power of music as a path to a more compassionate world.
Yours is no doubt an inspiring piece.
P.S.: As to your baby daughter, she is wise to ask for "more". Nat King Cole´s "Sleepy Head"may be more appealing to her than "Goodnight Irene". Or Brahms´original "Wiegenlied", which you may play to her if you´re too tired to sing. And how about a Spanish "canción de cuna"?"En el Portal de Belén" is a lovely one, but you won´t find any good online version. I wish I could sing it to you, as it came down to me from my ancestors...
The dominant female voice gradually waned to leave room for the toddler, then the child and finally the singer.
Music has been a balm to the sleepy souls, a language learning tool, a key to their ancestry, a window to different cultures. The language of love and understanding. Our daily bread. The air we breathe.
The two men now lead independent lives. Yet music has never ceased to be their daily bread, their unconditional love and inexhaustible well of spiritual enlightenment.
Your piece makes a powerful case for the transformative power of music as a path to a more compassionate world.
Yours is no doubt an inspiring piece.
P.S.: As to your baby daughter, she is wise to ask for "more". Nat King Cole´s "Sleepy Head"may be more appealing to her than "Goodnight Irene". Or Brahms´original "Wiegenlied", which you may play to her if you´re too tired to sing. And how about a Spanish "canción de cuna"?"En el Portal de Belén" is a lovely one, but you won´t find any good online version. I wish I could sing it to you, as it came down to me from my ancestors...
9
Gosh, this piece just about made my day. Thank you for such a wonderful article, and also for letting me reminisce about singing lullabies to my babies-- my preferred choice: italian christmas carols, sung once with the actual words and then again ad libbing words for my kids including their names. The last baby was also partial to the theme song from "Cheers," oddly enough. =)
6
As a music teacher, I think about lullabies often, particularly in today's media-soaked environment. Back in 1906, John Philip Sousa worried, “When a mother can turn on the phonograph with the same ease that she applies to the electric light, will she croon her baby to slumber with sweet lullabys [sic], or will the infant be put to sleep by machinery?" Of course, many do use machines today, at least in part because some parents think (incorrectly, I believe) that a good recording is superior to their own untrained voices. This article captures beautifully the magic of a parental bond through lullabies.
But maybe the biggest threat to lullabies is the current approach to sleep in the culture, suggesting infants be taught to self-soothe and sleep in a dark room all on their own. I know of no sleep method that suggests or promotes lullabies (although maybe before one enters the bedroom).
Thanks for this thoughtful and enjoyable article, and the broader project it describes. And I always hope that more parents will connect to their children through making music together.
www.matthewthibeault.com
But maybe the biggest threat to lullabies is the current approach to sleep in the culture, suggesting infants be taught to self-soothe and sleep in a dark room all on their own. I know of no sleep method that suggests or promotes lullabies (although maybe before one enters the bedroom).
Thanks for this thoughtful and enjoyable article, and the broader project it describes. And I always hope that more parents will connect to their children through making music together.
www.matthewthibeault.com
8
Come Away With Me in the Night
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i9RqOLu8zeQ
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i9RqOLu8zeQ
3
A culture in Africa somewhere believes that when a child is conceived, it gives its mother a song to sing to it during pregnancy. I found that is true. I was "given" a song for each of my children when they were born. And each child's song seemed a unique comfort to them in the years that followed. They are big now but can still sing their special lullaby . . .
12
Mother and child, mother and child, mother and child, again and again this pice repeats. I have sung my daughter to sleep every night of her life thus far this first year. Father and child thank you very much.
8
This has been the biggest torture of motherhood for me... I used to have severe anxiety disorder as a child - brutal, crippling anxiety - which I have mostly outgrown, but some aspects of it still survive. One of them is that I cannot get myself to sing. There's this strong psychological barrier that I just cannot cross, even for the sake of my own child! She's 17 months old and I have never sung to her. It kills me!!! I want to do it so badly, but whenever I try, my throat closes up and my heart starts racing, and I just cannot. I know this is not the place to ask, but I need help. There are two things I need to know - how can I get over this, and have I harmed my child by denying her the experience of motherly song? I play music for her, but it's just not the same. By the time she's old enough to ask me why, I want to be over this and singing to her like a normal mother!
1
You have not harmed your child in any way by not singing to her!
You're a perfectly normal first-time mother. Most won't admit it, but we were all just as scared as you that we were accidentally damaging the kid for life in one way or another.
There's no need to sing to her. No need even to sing in the shower. I won't say "Re-e-e-la-a-a-ax-x-x-x!" You've surely heard enough of that!
It does sound like you're suffering a heck of a lot of anxiety. You might try interviewing a few therapists (they think they're interviewing you, but really, you're the one in charge). Tell them you're really anxious and ask them what methods they use to help anxious people. If you find a therapist you like, give her or him, say, three sessions. If you like their style, continue. If you don't, then stop going.
Just keep loving your child. She'll be fine. So will you.
You're a perfectly normal first-time mother. Most won't admit it, but we were all just as scared as you that we were accidentally damaging the kid for life in one way or another.
There's no need to sing to her. No need even to sing in the shower. I won't say "Re-e-e-la-a-a-ax-x-x-x!" You've surely heard enough of that!
It does sound like you're suffering a heck of a lot of anxiety. You might try interviewing a few therapists (they think they're interviewing you, but really, you're the one in charge). Tell them you're really anxious and ask them what methods they use to help anxious people. If you find a therapist you like, give her or him, say, three sessions. If you like their style, continue. If you don't, then stop going.
Just keep loving your child. She'll be fine. So will you.
16
I agree with ML Chadwick. Until you find a good therapist, could you start really small and try to build up to song? You could try humming very quietly when you are completely unobserved in a noisy place. Then maybe move up to humming quietly when your baby is already fast asleep in the back of the car.
8
Thank you for the feedback and encouragement! I guess I do need professional help. I'll try to work up the courage to seek it before my daughter starts asking what's wrong with me.
This line: ~~part of what is so moving to me about lullabies is that they are usually sung by people who ‘‘can’t sing’’ ~~ brought tears to my eyes. My mother, who passed at the age of 83 in 2013, used to sing "Too Ra Loo Ra Loo" (Bing Crosby's version, of course) to me as a baby and as a child. Sometimes, as an adult I would phone her and ask her to please sing it for me, she always obliged. One of my treasures is a recording made about three months prior to her passing: she sang, as best she could, Too Ra Loo Ra Loo for me and my nephew recorded it. She sang only the chorus and sang it twice before being able to continue. Even as a small child I knew that she wasn't a singer but to my ears and to my heart back then--as it still is now--her voice was the MOST beautiful voice in the world. Because she sang a song of comfort and sang it to me with love.
17
My Irish grandmother sang that song to us all the time when we were kids. Now I sing it to my son. I think of my grandma every night when I sing it to him at bedtime. Hopefully it will continue to be passed down to the next generation of kids in the family.
2
I often sang "You are My Sunshine" to our babies. But I sang "You'll always know, dear, how much I love you, so be my sunshine always."
I just couldn't bear the thought of telling them they'd never know how much I love them. Every day, I made absolutely sure they did know!
I just couldn't bear the thought of telling them they'd never know how much I love them. Every day, I made absolutely sure they did know!
9
I am a non-musical person, yet felt the need from the moment she was born for a song. Something just for her. There is definitely a deep instinctual pull that I can’t put my finger on.
I changed the lyrics to Are You Sleeping? for her. Something simple yet meaningful that I could sing while sleep exhausted repeatedly, for as long as necessary until she quieted.
Where is Miri?
Where is Miri?
There she is.
There she is.
She’s a little squeaker
And a little stinker
I love her.
I love her.
As an infant her cry had a squeaky element, and I figured she’d grow in to the little stinker. Which she has, in spades.
The one about me mommy! The one about me!
I changed the lyrics to Are You Sleeping? for her. Something simple yet meaningful that I could sing while sleep exhausted repeatedly, for as long as necessary until she quieted.
Where is Miri?
Where is Miri?
There she is.
There she is.
She’s a little squeaker
And a little stinker
I love her.
I love her.
As an infant her cry had a squeaky element, and I figured she’d grow in to the little stinker. Which she has, in spades.
The one about me mommy! The one about me!
10
More song! Of course, more song. Our children always wanted, not one, not two, but at least three. It was one of the sweetest times of day, poised between their wakefulness and our exhaustion. We knew we would never get back these nights.
11
Loved this so much. What a wonderful project, and what a wonderful essay. Thank you.
11
When my son was born, I wanted to sing him something short & sweet. I remembered "Ring Around the Moon" from a Melanie album my sister had when we were teens. It was a hit:
"Who will tie a ring around the moon?
Who will draw a line from star to star?
Who will sing a penny's worth of song?
To tell them how in love we are.
"I will tie a ring around the moon?
I will draw a line from star to star?
I will sing a penny's worth of song?
To tell them how in love we are."
If I chose a different lullaby to sing, I'd always hear, "Mommy... Ringamoon." It was my pleasure. Hopefully, they'll sing it to my future grandkids.
"Who will tie a ring around the moon?
Who will draw a line from star to star?
Who will sing a penny's worth of song?
To tell them how in love we are.
"I will tie a ring around the moon?
I will draw a line from star to star?
I will sing a penny's worth of song?
To tell them how in love we are."
If I chose a different lullaby to sing, I'd always hear, "Mommy... Ringamoon." It was my pleasure. Hopefully, they'll sing it to my future grandkids.
4
Thank you for this exceptionally beautiful article. It made me think of a lovely quote from Abraham Joshua Heschel: “In no other way does man reveal himself so completely as in the way he sings. For the voice of a person, particularly when in song, is the soul in its full nakedness.”
13
The words matter less than the music, to infants.
When my daughter was just a week old, I'd been listening to some Chet Baker.
In the middle of the night, I started to sing "What'll I Do, When You are Far Away?" These weren't the words of a sad, possessive mother, but the tune itself was immensely satisfying and a calmed her immediately as I held her in my arms.
Later, I made up less mournful lyrics, but the song still gives her security and peace. I think Irving Berlin wrote the music. The magical spell of his music lives on.
When my daughter was just a week old, I'd been listening to some Chet Baker.
In the middle of the night, I started to sing "What'll I Do, When You are Far Away?" These weren't the words of a sad, possessive mother, but the tune itself was immensely satisfying and a calmed her immediately as I held her in my arms.
Later, I made up less mournful lyrics, but the song still gives her security and peace. I think Irving Berlin wrote the music. The magical spell of his music lives on.
4
Interesting, especially with respect to these songs having a very narrow range of notes. As I recall, a couple of studies have found that music actually rivals drugs in its calming effect, and that the most popular songs for people of all ages also have a very narrow note range.
Some of the most familiar English lullabies are rhymes written as Protestant mockery of Catholic monarchs, so the somewhat threatening lyrics (as in Rock-A-Bye-Baby, for example) are definitely meant to be taken that way, however that is belied by the soft melody.
Having found through genetic testing that most of my ancestry is English, I now realize that the songs I sang to my own children and now to my grandchildren are quite possibly exactly the same as those sung by my distant ancestors, something that is amazing to contemplate. My favorite lullaby, however, is a very haunting, yet comforting, Navajo song.
Some of the most familiar English lullabies are rhymes written as Protestant mockery of Catholic monarchs, so the somewhat threatening lyrics (as in Rock-A-Bye-Baby, for example) are definitely meant to be taken that way, however that is belied by the soft melody.
Having found through genetic testing that most of my ancestry is English, I now realize that the songs I sang to my own children and now to my grandchildren are quite possibly exactly the same as those sung by my distant ancestors, something that is amazing to contemplate. My favorite lullaby, however, is a very haunting, yet comforting, Navajo song.
2
Many childhood chants and games, as well as ancient traditional melodies, use the pentatonic scale, which has only five notes. There seems to be an almost instinctive pull toward these tones which is not entirely understood.
8