Without music, life would be a mistake ~ Friedrich Nietzsche
In this segment, I would like to bring together a few (seemingly) disparate ideas that connect humans as aging entities as creative agents and active listeners to the construction of their environments in this regard: MUSIC.
I consider music as something both scientific (to be understood and empirically tested) and metaphysical (to be appreciated as beyond our comprehension – and that is OK as the rhythm, the lyrics, the tone, the flow, the harmony, the effect create an alchemical magic in mind, body, and soul) – and that is a rare combination indeed. Music is an enigma – and Enigma is music. Music is synthetic and analytic – necessary and contingent. I am thinking about music and feeling about music. I am writing about music – a posteriori – but I wonder if music is as a priori as defining the ‘triangle.”
In other words, we can analyze and dissect, and gain a degree of knowledge, but it still does not equate to total depth and breadth of what it is. I believe it is one aspect of human existence which will defy scientism such that as you dig deeper and deeper and follow the reductionism inward through the vestibulocochlear nerve and toward the synapses and neurotransmitters and we will find biochemicals and space – but where is the swirl of meaning and affect and transcendental “vibes”? It’s there, but here, and over there too. The experience is total – soma, germline, brain, mind, skin, hair, memory, movement, dance, rhythmic, spiritual, and existential. The power and the anti-power of music. Even the dour Arthur Schopenhauer found a special significance to the importance of music:
- To stimulate the knowledge of these Ideas by depicting individual things (for works of art are themselves always such) is the aim of all the other non-musical arts . . . [but] music, since it passes over the Ideas, is . . . quite independent of the phenomenal world, positively ignores it, and, to a certain extent, could still exist even if there were no world at all, which cannot be said of the other arts.
The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy noted that,
- Often considered to be a thoroughgoing pessimist, Schopenhauer in fact advocated ways — via artistic, moral and ascetic forms of awareness — to overcome a frustration-filled and fundamentally painful human condition. Since his death in 1860, his philosophy has had a special attraction for those who wonder about life’s meaning, along with those engaged in music, literature, and the visual arts. http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/schopenhauer/
We create it and then it creates us. Music as the Ouroboros. It is an extension of us – perhaps both limbic and cortex – reaching out and extended outward beyond the cranial sphere and in-between and among us – connecting and weaving, energizing the many-into-one; the ultimate e-pluribus-unum. Anthems, ballads, beauty, angst, tranquility, marching, percussion, horns, strings, quartets, symphonies – our gift and each generation stamps its identity along with it and then carries it onward – to the grave, but it all joins in the magic and memetic swirl of humanity. Music as the gift from the creator and the gift is returned many-times over as the listener is a viable part of the process. Pure reciprocation and essential as breathing. Perhaps it is instinctual (see connection below to PBS series and Oliver Sacks).
I also see (listen?) music as breadcrumbs along our trail of human development. Music as the transportation device in memory. A ontological magic carpet. In addition, there is the passage of time, the anchor points of time, and the ability of music to serve as a cognitive wonderment, a mechanism to trigger reflection and contemplation. As I have suggested many times over in these blog segments, even as we are surrounded by the onslaught of biomedical findings, the scientific management of aging (as Thomas Cole would call it), and the promise of technological wonders that await us in this century (perhaps immortality? – as Aubrey de Grey might see it), I still need to have that deepening connection to not only the present (oops it just moved on, now it is the past; nope, got it! The present – right NOW ! Ah, no, it too has passed), but the unfolding slices and streaming media that reels backward along the pathways of our human development that have intersected each and every one of us – along the journey to the present – now.
We can sense that our on-going aging process is the accumulation of experiences, stories, people, landscapes and visions. We try to understand and create patterns from all of the kaleidoscopic memories and events which have been embellished and enhanced, elevated and manipulated into a Kantian mash of things-unto-themselves – where we believe that what was {what we were} is exactly the way that it was – and that was what happened (with a high degree of probability) but can we really know for sure with the highest degree of reliability and validity – that what was – was what it was. Or are our perceptions and memories only (and barely) able to glimpse the surface or an angle or the flash and glint of what was? It is true the photo albums, the videos and other media can provide a more certain foundation, but like the Zapruder film we see it unfolding, but what happened – really? Thus, the kaleidoscopic experience – and with time, the angles and the perspectives, the people, all age – and the images, the experiences are both there – and here, but still transformed.
We can rely on our senses to perhaps to allow for the possibility of “involuntary memory” which, as an example, set the stage for the great fictional work of Marcel Proust and À la recherche du temps perdu (or in English, In Search of Lost Time) –
- “She sent out for one of those short, plump little cakes called petites madeleines, which look as though they had been moulded in the fluted scallop of a pilgrim’s shell. And soon, mechanically, weary after a dull day with the prospect of a depressing morrow, I raised to my lips a spoonful of the tea in which I had soaked a morsel of the cake. No sooner had the warm liquid, and the crumbs with it, touched my palate than a shudder ran through my whole body, and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary changes that were taking place…at once the vicissitudes of life had become indifferent to me, its disasters innocuous, its brevity illusory…”
So, perhaps you have had a sensory trigger – many times over. And then there is the rush (often instantaneously) through time – to a place and moment – and there is the involuntary response of emotion, affect, and the re-enactment (or is it simply a pristine review of the scene?) of the experience as it was. The re-experiencing may be vivid and lucid or perhaps a momentary flash of hazy recollection – but the neurons firing and the synapses connecting, and the bundled cords of biochemical messages fly to their designated way stations igniting the response – and the overwhelming reaction.
I am sure this has happened to you many times over your life course. Perhaps you were driving your car –and the “old” song on the FM station comes up – and then turn up the volume to get the essence of it all {if the people driving around you or on the sidewalks could only know what this means to you! – If they only knew – but then they do – they know exactly what you are going through) or you find an box or container with some LP records – the covers and then you pull out the vinyl and marvel at the magic of ridges and the needle that would transmit history, time, and the intersect of the days in school, on the job, that summer, and that lover, and that day with sun and storm, heat and wind, thunder and the rush of clouds in the sky.
I am sure this is part of the fascinating work that Oliver Sacks is engaged in and I hope you can follow up on his book: Musicophilia (see: http://musicophilia.com/
– and then PBS special that is forthcoming and to air later this month.

http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/musicminds/ask.html
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Now, if may share a few trigger points along my life course as example and then end up with one song that is simply haunting the neurons right out of me (at this point).
I have organized my iTunes playlist(s) into several categories, which roughly correspond to the following (as examples).
For the Brain (examples: Purple Haze, Jimi Hendrix; Crystal Ship, The Doors; Wake Up, Stop Dreaming, Wang Chung; Man on the Moon, REM)
For the Body: (examples: Crash Into Me, Dave Matthews Band; Big Legged Woman, Freddie King; Go All the Way, The Raspberries; God Part II, U2; Smooth, Santana and Rob Thomas (How can you not get hot and begin the dance with this one?); Let Love Take Control, Tab Benoit)
For the Fight: (examples: Street Fighting Man, Rolling Stones; Out of Control, The Eagles; Breed, Nirvana; City of Angels, Wang Chung;
For the Soul (examples: Instant Karma, John Lennon; Vide Cor Meum; Bruckner, Missa Solemis in B Flat Minor; Rachmaninov: Vespers, Op. 37; Faure: Requiem)
Some songs defy categories and I do not know where the hell to place them – I have another category that simply says “HAUNTING”
Jocelyn Pook’s: Dionysus
Dean Can Dance: Cantara
The Allman Brothers: In Memory of Elizabeth Reed
And as a final example, here is another “haunting” song that I just added to the list and I cannot figure it out (yet – or maybe never will); it “sounds” familiar – and yet I am sure it is not.
I came across “it” by accident. I was listening to a box-set list by Crosby, Stills and Nash and trying to weave in the essence of songs like “Long Time Gone”, “Carry On” and “Suite: Judy Blue Eyes,” but it was another song on the list, that I guess I had always skipped over – and paid no attention to.
The song is Laughing. It is from If I Could Only Remember My Name, which is David Crosby’s first solo album (1971). The song has this straight to the limbic/cortex drive and when Joni Mitchell’s voice joins in at the end and you have Jerry Garcia’s Pedal Steel Guitar at work – well, the reaction is unearthly and grounded – it is deeply philosophical (think: Plato’s cave metaphor) and I believe it is a mirror. But after listening, there is no longer any mirror; just dust glittering in the rays of the sun…
And all of the books could never convey the essence – of laughing.
The truth of it all.
Life – laughing. Dionysus. Odysseus. Cantara…. In Memory of…
I want to be laughing – as I die.
I want music played at my funeral. For you and for me.
But in the mean time… I will be singing.
thanks, Scott D. Wright


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