The Power of Pressing Play
Growing up surrounded by music, I’ve always found it to be a source of peace in what can be chaotic chapters of life. Looking back, I can pinpoint specific moments and feelings to a particular artist or song. I still remember the first CDs my parents bought me in 2014 — Multiply by Ed Sheeran and Chapter One by Ella Henderson — and the nostalgia I feel when I hear tracks from those albums today. Being in a brass band for most of my childhood, I’m instantly transported back to rehearsals, CD recordings, and competitions whenever I hear pieces we used to play — whether it’s in a shop or on the radio. Similarly, whenever I hear ‘Fireball’ by Pitbull, I instantly remember the moves from the dance fitness class I took years ago and how difficult they were! When one of my friends’ favourite songs comes on, I’m suddenly back in the car with them or reliving heavy essay-writing sessions with their playlist in the background. Do you have certain memories or periods of your life that you have mentally connected to a song or an album? Was it conscious or unconscious?
I recently read the last book in the Windy City series by Liz Tomforde, ‘Rewind it Back.’ It resonated with me in the way that the female main character talks about music’s power to ‘carry the weight of memories’ through its melodies and lyrics. She says, ‘When I press play, it's like stepping into a time machine, taking me back to moments I never want to forget.’ I love this quote and found that it sparked my curiosity to look into it further. Jude Rogers' book, ‘The Sound of Being Human’, was a fascinating read when thinking about the impact of music in our recollection of memories, healing and grief. I would love to start with music and memories.
Remembering the first time she heard Super Trouper by Abba, Rogers describes the way songs can lace the specifics of a memory together, carrying the elements of it with us in our memory. This imagery feels calming and accurate to me when I think about how songs are connected to specific moments in time. On a recent road trip in New Zealand with my boyfriend, we listened and sang along to ‘Sally, When the Wine Runs Out’ by Role Model multiple times a day! It became the soundtrack of the trip, and when I hear it now, I recall moments from a vague image to the specific stretches of drive, what the weather was like and what we got up to that day. That song now carries those special moments from our trip in the lyrics and melody, as Rogers describes.
Rogers goes on to reference Janata’s (2009) work on this topic. Janata reminds us of the times we are singing along to songs in our head, when we have those annoying earworms! He uses this example to suggest that ‘we can establish these music memory traces so strongly’ and that ‘there are so many associations formed with the contents of other memories and music serves as a really effective retrieval cue.’ I found this so interesting to read about and to think about times in my life where music has evoked memories of certain times in my life. I wonder whether, when you read this, you will recall memories too and how music played into the carrying of these memories through time.
Catherine Loveday talks about the link between memories and music beautifully, aligning with Rogers and Janata’s thoughts. She says that ‘memories are essentially networks of functionally linked cells’ and that whilst you can choose to activate them by thinking of past moments, ‘something can come in from nowhere and just trigger that memory for you.’ Music has the power to activate memories for us. When I hear ‘Dreams’ by Fleetwood Mac, I think of my graduation because it is the song that was performed by an a cappella group. What songs trigger memories for you without warning?
Reading through Rogers' book, at this point, I was already fascinated and interested by the connection between music and memories. This grew as I went through each chapter. The discussion about the impact of music from pre-birth was something I hadn’t thought about, and therefore, would like to touch on in case you are in the same boat as me. Rogers references Trehub’s 2001 paper, which states that ‘babies do not begin life with a blank musical slate’ and are instead ‘predisposed to attend to the melodic contour and rhythmic patterning of sound sequences…’ She found from her 2015 study of pre-1-year-old infants that ‘twice the number of babies were soothed by an adult singing, as opposed to an adult speaking.’ Reading this, I recalled seeing YouTuber Zoe Sugg's birth announcements and her sharing the songs that they were born to. This made me think about ‘birth songs’ a little more. I looked into it and discovered that there are thousands of birth playlists on Spotify! I wonder whether babies have a connection to the song that they were born to without realising? Food for thought after reading Trehub’s work in Rogers' book!
I was fascinated reading the chapters on healing and grief with music. Rogers talks about the ability music has to create safe spaces when they otherwise don’t feel safe. I related to this so much, as I am sure many of you will too. How many of you go out for a walk on your own or catch public transport with earphones in? I certainly do! It seems to put distance between me and the stressful situation that is happening. It was the same with essay writing. Putting on my ‘study playlist’ helped me to feel calmer and therefore more able to concentrate. Rogers explains that this feeling of safety, which is provided by music for so many people, can help us to understand why grief for the death of musicians can feel so real, despite probably never having had a conversation with them. She suggests that ‘perhaps we grieve musicians we never met because we imagine these are people we would like, people we want to be with, because we connect strongly with their songs.’ Reflecting on this, I recalled reading about the death of Liam Payne and feeling that sadness, more than perhaps I expected. I never listened to his solo music and haven’t frequently listened to One Direction for many years. So, why was I feeling sad? Thinking about what I had learnt from Rogers' book about how music can spark memories, I realised that One Direction was a band of my childhood, reminding me of being younger, having fewer responsibilities and all those happy memories. It is this connection to nostalgia that I think provokes those heavy feelings of loss for someone who, in the last few years of my life, has had next to no impact. As Rogers has highlighted throughout this book, music connects us to memories, so intuitively, we build connections with the songs and thus, the artists that create the opportunity ‘stepping into a time machine’ and relive them. Therefore, when they die, we feel that sadness because of the connection we have built with their music.
We can apply this to the death of loved ones and listening to songs that remind us of them. Rogers says that ‘music gives us a path to them.’ I can see how this would build almost a reliance on that artist because of the weight of importance for us individually, on the songs that they write.
To summarise, Jude Rogers' book ‘The Sound of Being Human’ perfectly explains how music can ‘carry the weight of memories, playing like a soundtrack to (our) lives’, as Hallie from ‘Rewind it Back’ says. I was so interested in what she had to say and found it resonated with me and my experience of music throughout my life so far. I hope that when you read this, you resonate with some, if not all, of her thoughts too. Thank you for reading, and let me know your thoughts in the comments.
