Music has a power unlike any other medium, though arguably prose has something comparable.  We know it innately, and we experience it every day, in television and film, in shops, restaurants, bars and clubs.  Advertisers and marketers exploit it to turn us into suckers for whatever they are selling, but that’s okay, because – to my mind at least – it is one of the most compelling things about music.  It is the reason we connect with like-minded people over the same songs, artists and genres…  It is the power to rock us to our very cores and almost instantly affect our mood.

Nick Hornby makes an astute observation in High Fidelity.  Protagonist/Narrator Rob Gordon asks:

“What came first?  The music or the misery?  Did I listen to music because I was miserable?  Or was I miserable because I listened to music?  Do all those records turn you into a melancholy person?

People worry about kids playing with guns, and teenagers watching violent videos; we are scared that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands – literally thousands – of songs about broken hearts and rejection and pain and misery and loss.  The unhappiest people I know, romantically speaking, are the ones who like pop music the most; and I don’t know whether pop music has caused this unhappiness, but I do know that they’ve been listening to the sad songs longer than they’ve been living the unhappy lives.”

Although perhaps a little heavy on the negativity, it is as brilliant a social observation as it is a musical one: though it seems a daft thing to do, we’ve all been guilty of turning to sad songs in our darkest hours.  And Hornby isn’t alone in his observations.  Elton John’s Sad Songs (Say So Much) penned by writing partner Bernie Taupin captures the sentiment rather precisely:

*awful video alert*

Now I don’t know whether wallowing in our misery is healthy, but it certainly seems to be cathartic.  It is said that crying often adds years to our lives: maybe this has something to do with it?  In any case, it is unquestionably true that sad songs make us feel deeply, can touch our hearts and help us heal.  When we hear the words of a stranger expressing our emotions precisely, in a way we were unable to articulate until that very moment – it is then that we realise we aren’t alone.  We make a connection with this other person, wherever they may be, over thousands of miles or even beyond the grave; we are suddenly aware that someone, somewhere, sometime has been in our shoes, and come out the other side, healed enough to share this thing of beauty with us.

So can happy songs do the same?  Can they fix us?  I think so, but I do believe that sometimes we aren’t prepared for it, when we are at out very lowest.  It isn’t so easy to be around, nor even to listen to people being chirpy, smiling, laughing, trying to cheer us up.  If your dog’s just died, a group of friends trying to console you with a rendition of Shiny Happy People in 3-part harmony is most likely going to result in several people getting slapped!

There are songs that tread a safe middle ground, though.  If I’m not in the right place to wallow, but maybe need a bit of a de-stress, there’s a world of easy-listening music to turn to.  And then, when I’m looking for something perkier, something to make me smile… there’s music for that, too: take, for example, Bob Marley’s Three Little Birds or Bobby McFerrin’s Don’t Worry Be Happy.  There’s something about a rastafarian singing to me about the futility of sadness that always makes me smile in spite of myself, however much of a funk I’m in.  And I’m not sure that it’s always the lyrics which are affecting my mood here:  the  music itself holds a definite sway over me, too…

It is interesting to note, however, that reggae is the only genre of music I will choose to actively listen to regardless of my mood: if I’m sad it makes me feel better; if I’m happy it makes me happier still…  I suppose to some extent, reggae is like the musical equivalent of Prozac!

And when, as a populace, we are eventually smiling: what do we choose to listen to then?  Well, in my experience, we tend to opt for music with a thumping bass or at least an upbeat tempo to get us pumped up, dancing on our chairs or bouncing down the street: but why is that?

I’m generally quite a lazy individual, so why – psychologically speaking – do I find myself wanting to tap my feet and wave my arms wildly whenever I’m in a good mood?  Why can I not be as happy in silence as I am with my music turned up loud?  I can be contented, but never to the same extent… Once again, the music is taking charge of my emotions and making me feel more deeply than I was feeling before (albeit at the other end of the spectrum).

I discovered an interesting article for Scientific American which hypothesises that:

“the emotions of music are “cross-modal,” and can easily spread from [one] sensory system to another.

[…]

if music sounds like human expressive movements, then it sounds like something that, all by itself, is rich in emotional expressiveness, and can be easily interpreted by the auditory system.”

This implies that I want to dance to funky music because funky music sounds like people dancing; that somehow the very rhythm dictates my mood.  The theory certainly seems to hold water.  I’m frequently found tapping out rhythms on the desk, or playing imaginary instruments as I listen to my music, in replication of the action that caused the sounds I’m hearing.

Most interestingly, in my opinion: if the theory stands, then the answer to Rob Gordon’s question, “Did I listen to music because I was miserable, or was I miserable because I listened to music?” is that both are true simultaneously.  We actively seem to seek out music that replicates the emotions and actions we want to experience or are experiencing.  Excluding the times when marketers or cinematographers are using music to make us feel what they want us to feel, we choose the music that best fits our mood.  That is to say, when we are miserable, we turn on either: a) self indulgent music which prolongs the misery, or; b) something a bit happier to help us get over our depression.

It would be unusual for us to choose to listen to sad songs when we are happy.  Somehow, inside, we already know what it will do to us.  We are acutely aware, deep in our subconscious, that there are songs which make us laugh, and songs which make us cry, and we go after what our mind and body are craving.

I find it incredibly reassuring to think that there is such an integral link between the human psyche and music.  I think it explains a lot about why I am the way I am.  And I’m sure, if I look hard enough, I’ll find at least one artist who feels the same way!