How did a species that invented war, politics, and parking lots create so much beautiful music?

From Alfred’s journal

Spent most of the afternoon over the municipal lot behind the bank, which is four acres of blacktop with one locust tree left standing in it like a witness. A woman sat in her car with the door open and the radio on, not going anywhere, and whatever it was had strings in it and she did not move until it ended. I used to hold the tidy opinion that people made music to pass the time between their worse ideas, that it was leftover energy, a byproduct. Then I watched her turn the key and drive off across all that painted asphalt, and I thought: how did a species that invented war, politics, and parking lots create so much beautiful music? The same hands drew the yellow lines and wrote the thing that kept her sitting there. I have no idea where in the bird that would go.