I went to college for music, for a little while. Most of my energies from ages 11-27 were spent on music. I was a double-bass performance major. I was fighting a losing battle, honestly. I was pretty good, but my level of mental maturity and my biology (I have webbed fingers) limited my potential development. I did not have the discipline to practice for at least 5 hours a day, nor the technique to stand out in an audition.
In a way, exposure to a good music education was extremely helpful later in life when I learned how to practice meditation. I know this sounds odd, but let me explain...
One of the most pleasant and rewarding classes I ever had was a Music Literature class. This is a class in which the students study pieces of music that have an important role in music history, or are strong examples of a particular style or idea. Scores are studied and many hours are spent listening. It was illuminating to have taken part in such a thing.
For me, music had always been something to which I was connected on a very emotional level. I loved it because of the overall effect a piece of music might have on moving my emotions. Music Literature class taught me that when these emotional effects are set aside, and the piece of music is examined very attentively, one can see that these emotional effects are masterfully constructed through the use of specific techniques. The effects of using sound to stimulate emotions reveals itself as sort of a murky science, one whose implications and effects are wide-ranging and difficult to know, and one that can become a very black art in the wrong hands. But more importantly, it conveys the knowledge that powerful emotional responses can be created from distinct occasions of sensory impact that can be observed through careful attention.
Now, when I practice my concentration, I can recall to mind the experience of listening to wonderful classical music recordings. Sore muscles, stray thoughts, movement of breath stop being mundane and start becoming exquisite.