Hear those cowbells ring!

What does it really take for something to be considered music? And do cowbells count? Do they?

When I first realised that the sound of multiple giant cowbells clanging was not part of my dream but coming from outside my window, I was not too pleased.

It seems particularly cruel to be woken up at five in the morning on New Year’s Eve, and even crueler when the sound goes on and on.

I could hear the bells coming closer and closer until they must have been right outside our house. But my sigh of relief when the sound started to fade was premature because they turned around at the end of the street and then came right back past our house.

We already have bells from the church not more than one hundred metres away that ring out every fifteen minutes day and night, with a grand total of twenty-eight rings on the stroke of midnight: four to let us know it’s on the hour, and then two times twelve, just in case we didn’t get it the first time.

And now giant cowbells? Yes, welcome to Switzerland! 🇨🇭

But really I should be thankful, because it might just be that those cowbells are what hopefully sets us up for a good year. They’re meant to ward off the bad spirits and drive away any (some!) hardships of the year just passed, while also clearing the way for a fresh start.

Switzerland has quite a few traditions associated with winter and the end of the old year and the start of the new. Depending on where you are, they might include groups of people in costumes and strange masks parading through villages and yodelling or the recitation of poetic blessings. And then there’s also a form of carolling in which people go from house to house, drink a glass of schnapps, and sing songs.

But what I experienced was the local version of the Trychel procession. Bell ringers—not cows— carry the bells with the help of thick leather straps that are positioned over their shoulders. It’s a sound like no other, a strange music that is part compelling, part scary—especially at pre-dawn on a winter’s morning— and one hundred percent extremely loud.

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But is it music?

The whole thing is an intriguing blend of ritual, custom, history, superstition, and noise. But is it music?

Well, there’s no melody and no familiar rhythms to follow, and no harmony, at least not as our ears would usually associate with Western music.

But there is a very rich and resonant texture, and there are different pitches (high and low) depending on the size of the bell: the bigger the bell—with some weighing up to twenty-five kilograms— the deeper and more resonant the tone.

The sound also changes depending on the kind of metal, such as iron or bronze, used to make the bell. (And for more on Swiss winter traditions, go to Winter festivals and customs).

Finally, and perhaps controversially, there’s the fact that while it can all seem chaotic and quite random, it’s still a deliberate organisation of sound, the bell ringers working together to create a cohesive experience.

What do you think? When defining something as music—or not—should we factor in the intention behind it?

But believe me when I say I wasn’t thinking any of this on the morning of New Year’s Eve. There was blessed peace once they’d moved away, followed shortly by the sound of our cat, maybe wondering what was going on but also hungry for breakfast.

And that was most definitely not music to my ears.

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