The Universal Language of Music

Written by gray gailey, meghan boucher, sam shipman

Photographed by Zahara Trent

It’s a strange thing to step into a new country, thousands of miles from home, and find that the soundtrack to your travels sounds an awful lot like your daily walk to class.

In a far-too-crowded club in Prague, my friends and I dance to I Love It by Icona Pop, Pitbull’s Hotel Room Service, and American oldies we ourselves haven’t heard in years. We know every word, of course. But so do all the people around us… from the fellow U.S. exchange students we met minutes ago to the Italians forming a dance circle or the teens from Madrid grabbing drinks at the bar.

Back at our “home base” in Well, Carnival nights rotate between unfamiliar songs in incomprehensible—to us—Dutch and popular English hits like Let It Be or Sweet Caroline, and every Wednesday, you are likely to find half of the castle’s student body at De Bunn for “American Night,” where we control the playlist. While everywhere I go, I encounter new experiences, new sights, and new languages, the one thing that doesn’t feel so new is the music.

It’s 2:00 a.m., but the night is just getting started in Madrid. Unfortunately for me, I’ve already been up for 24 hours. Deliriously, I stumble into a karaoke bar. The bartender is yelling at me in a language I barely understand as I try to order a drink. As I think back to my subpar Spanish education (where they never taught us how to reason with an angry bartender), I hear something that shakes me out of my sleep-deprived stupor. Heart of Glass by Blondie is playing over the TVs, and tens of drunk twenty-year-olds are slurring the lyrics out. A song I’ve heard played a thousand times by my mom on the way to school, or my dad while doing yard work, or while getting froyo from the mall. Even all these miles away, something reminds me of home. It’s a simple song. It could’ve been any English song. But it was more than a song at that moment, it was a slice of home.

While I’m sure I was the only one in the bar feeling deeply homesick and nostalgic listening to ’80s hits, it had me questioning why? Why in every establishment, in every Uber ride and bar, was the only thing I could understand the music playing from the speakers… Why, in countries steeped in their own rich musical histories and culture, does English music dominate? Does it stem from the need to accommodate entitled American tourists? Is it a genuine interest–or even preference–in our music? Or is it simply the sheer reach of American pop culture? What was with the keen interest in American and British music? And the variety was endless. Paris loved Sabrina Carpenter and Madrid was a big fan of Nicki Minaj. There seemed to be no discernable pattern, just one thing tying them all together–English. I’m not sure if I’ll ever truly figure it out. Maybe it’s just as simple as they enjoy the music. Maybe there is no greater meaning. But it brings me a sense of comfort knowing that even when those headphones run out of battery, I’ll still be able to hear something that reminds me of home.

American companies of all kinds—be it record labels, food chains, clothing, or TV—have long pushed American cultural narratives worldwide. But beyond that, English music is a shorthand for a certain mood. As musicians started gaining global fame in the 20th century (see Frank Sinatra, The Beatles, Elvis…), American and British music not only garnered popularity but were associated with rebellion, self-expression, and foreign “coolness.”

But while for some, it’s the idea of elsewhere, for English speakers, it’s the bittersweet reminder of home. Music abroad for an inexperienced American isn’t just a habit or path to feeling good, it’s a critical tool for maintaining your sanity. Full days of stumbling into museums and dissecting hundreds of signs filled with gibberish weigh heavy on the mind of someone who hasn’t touched a car in a couple of weeks, let alone called their grandma.

Music doesn’t just come in the form of reliving your summer anthems as you stare down a building from the 1100s; you’ll find plenty of surprises from home while traveling the unknown. Your ears will perk up at the American music that courses through the bars, clubs, and restaurants in Europe. The notes create a lifeline tying you to something that previously seemed impossibly far away. On your third pint of sludge, see how your goosebumps hop around when you hear All Star. And God forbid you hear a song you like one evening—karaoke on the streets just might be included in your travel package. Then, after another day limping ten kilometers, tumble into your cheap hostel bed, lay down, and reach into your pocket. Your trusty headphones serve as a guardian, comforting you. Open your playlist, press shuffle, close your eyes, and consider calling your grandma tomorrow.