We learn in music theory that the basic elements of music are melody, harmony and rhythm. But there is something else. One of the words used to describe this other thing is timbre.  

Timbre is the unique sound quality of individual voices or musical instruments. Music physicists tell us that timbre derives from the particular combination of overtones that creates the distinctive resonance of that voice or instrument.

Whatever it is, we can hear it, and we can feel it. The common word for it — a wonderful word that sounds like the thing it represents — is twang.

Some musical instruments have a certain twang. The harpsichord, the bassoon, the celeste. Indian instruments have an abundance of twang — the sitar, the tabla, the Indian flute — especially when played by the famous maestro, Hariprasad Chaurasia.

Twang is a critical component of musical experience. A certain twang is why I fell in love with the bassoon when I was eight. I practiced, practiced, practiced, because I wanted to make that sound myself.

The twang touches something very deep within us.  

Melody, harmony, and rhythm are all about patterns and progressions. The twang is just one thing. But it’s a very subtle thing. It’s evanescent. It’s like the light of a firefly.

When you love a certain twang, you can’t get enough of it. You just want to hear that twang again and again. The melody, harmony, and rhythm, magnificent as they are in themselves, become secondary. They are only vehicles to carry that twang, to bring us that endlessly fascinating vibration again, and again, and again.

Maharaji has a certain twang. You can’t hear it with your ears. I don’t know what I hear it with. But when I relax and let go a little, I definitely hear it. I’ve been hearing it for 35 years.

More than any other twang, this twang is always fresh. You never get tired of it. You can’t get enough of it. Nothing is more satisfying. Maharaji’s twang is the twang of twangs.

The oboe sounds the note that tunes the orchestra. But what tunes the oboe? These days it’s probably an electronic gadget. But back in my day, the oboist always carried a tuning fork, and listened to it before sounding that note.

Maharaji is like a tuning fork. Listen. Enjoy that twang, admire it, and let your admiration tune you up.

You’ll sound a whole lot better, especially to your harshest critic — yourself.

Illustration by Sara Shaffer.