Do you have a favourite Beatles’ song? Ask Google what are their best tracks and you’ll see list after list, each one with a paragraph pontificating on why the selected tracks are so good. And odds are they’ll all be nominating different songs. In My Life, A Day In a Life, Something, Yesterday, Yellow Submarine – well, maybe not Yellow Submarine, but all the others! And more. How can they all be ‘the best’? And even if two people agree on which song is the best, chances are it’ll be for different reasons. Maybe it’s the lyrics, the guitar playing, or because it’s a song that prompts a memory of a special moment.
For music is such a personal thing. It’s good for sharing at a party or a live gig, where the atmosphere means there’s a common vibe and everyone can join in. But that’s more the communal spirit, less the music itself. Listening alone, it’s quite different. A listener can be soothed, their spirits lifted, filled with sorrow; moved, transported, transformed, all as a result of unique reactions that come from experience, familiarity, taste and memories.
There is science to explain all this, creating links between music and emotions, the impact of tempos, rhythms, major and minor keys, and how the brain releases dopamines. For me, though, it’s all about exposure and how you were introduced to music. Grow up in a household where the influence is Brahms and Liszt, you’re more likely to be affected by classical music. In my home, I was subjected to my father’s love of easy listening (as it’s now called) and to the harmonies of minstrels and choirs. We sang songs together and it’s little wonder that I gravitated to melody and harmony as I grew older. And if your household was filled with something different, it’s quite likely that’s what you like most today.
I recall being at a dinner party once, where most of the other diners were younger than me. The host had selected a background to eating of reggae and punk rock. This was already breaking a rule of mine, that music should never be a background; it should be listened to and appreciated. Or not played at all. But there it was, twittering away in the corner. And from what I could make out, the selections were all alien to me, and not just because of the low volume. The songs were unrecognisable and certainly not what I would define as music. When I finally did recognise one of the songs, it was Babylon’s Burning by the Ruts. I was on the verge of making a disparaging but (I thought) witty remark about the death of music, when the entire room burst into song. Not only could the entire room (minus me) decipher lyrics but also was able to sing along to them, lustily and in unison, as if they knew them by heart.
So, while there’s no accounting for taste, here was more evidence that what we associate with music we are familiar with. What you grow up with, you are likely to carry with you through life. You may develop new interests and even baulk against these earliest influences, but they’ll always be with you and have an impact on you. What is it they say about sports? You develop muscle memories, so you acquire automatic responses without realising it. The same with music. Music you are familiar with will trigger responses, link to memories and emotions, often unconsciously. And as each person’s experiences are unique, so will responses to music be unique.
And that’s the way I like it! And I use musical references when I’m writing. I will introduce a song and link it to a character – in his or her’s memory or record collection – and that will help the reader define that person’s personality or mood. But because of the uniqueness of response, it can hint but it doesn’t provide all the answers. Each reader’s interpretation of the song will be different and different from the character’s, so there’s room both for identification between the reader and the character, and for the character to spring surprises.
It’s said that a picture paints a thousand words. For me, a song can do more than a paragraph of description.
And with that thought, I need to stop and go play myself a record! I think I’ll start with the Beatles’ Help! Now what does that say about my disposition?!
