Jul 304 min read

How Music Weaves Beyond Words

In this article I would like to head slightly left field to share a personal experience.

In November 2022, my sister Lucy suffered a devastating stroke. It was so bad that we all feared the worst. The surgeons managed to release the pressure on her brain. Once Lucy was out of intensive care, we could only see how she responded and support her as best we could.

On so many levels, Lucy was determined not just to survive, but to thrive. She was initially immobile with no speech with some sounds and vocal nuances. Over time, in those early days of communicating, through shared visual clues, I tried hard to comprehend what she was trying to say, often with me being clown-like to lighten the frustration.

One day, I had a thought. I created a playlist of all Lucy's favourite songs, bought a Bluetooth speaker and switched on Three Little Birds by Bob Marley. The response was electrifying. Lucy began to sing. Not one word, but whole sentences. When you imagine that you will never hear your sister's voice at its natural ambience again, the effect was profound. Here is the other thing. In this stroke ward, a sort of social musical thread permeated the air. Other patients nodded, moved in time and sang along to the infectious melody. In that moment, and so many more after this, we all came together; we communicated and were joyful through music. Thank you, Bob.

This led to me exploring on how music impacts on brain function and subsequent rehabilitation. Does music come from one part of the brain? Is speech separate? Could music support physical recovery? And what could music mean to others like Lucy in a social context? In my professional capacity, I have observed young non-verbal children spontaneously singing melodic responses in musical play. This was particularly notable when topic related songs linked to visual clues such as a horse and shared emotional interaction. What if I could apply this idea to my sister and those around her?

I created musical soundbites for Lucy. For example, going up and down - soh mi or "la la la la la" playground chants to find imaginative ways to connect with the relevant word. For example, "I want a tissue!" was repeated in a playful sing song pattern. This was preceded by a question "what do you wa-nt?" Very quickly Lucy responded, "I want a tissue", after which we dissolved into peals of laughter. This helped the hospital staff to communicate more easily, and for Lucy to engage directly with her community, so was sociable on so many levels.

I bought in claves (two rhythm sticks) to encourage her to tap the table in time to the rhythm of age old poems (This little pig went to market, Incy wincy spider) and short sentences. Playing claves is a physical activity, so subsequently Lucy's motor (physical) memory helped her to recall the sentence. I played familiar songs on the ukulele such as She'll be coming round the mountain, Yellow submarine and My bonny lies over the ocean, all of which Lucy sang along to. One of the most compelling moments came when I put Grease lightning on her Bluetooth speaker. Lucy moved, sang and became the characters alongside the words she sang. Throughout the ward emerged an alternative version of Grease! It seems that music ignites language with a parallel framework of rhyme, rhythmical patterns and melodic nuances (MacDonald, Kreutz & Mitchell, 2012).

During those early days, the focused musical activities were incredibly significant, not just for Lucy's early recovery, but also for others around her. In that short time, the hospital staff and patients became friends; they were all in it together. In this context, you could see how the social ripples of music making spreads much further than the sole beneficiary. With positive encouragement music galvanised Lucy and others to keep going.

Lucy's tenacity and determination to recover her functional and communicate skills continues today.

Dear Reader, you may wonder on the relevance of this anecdote to friendship which normally combines longevity with trust, memories and shared experiences. Lucy's story shows how music can bring people together during some of the best and worst experiences of our lives. In trauma, shared musical joy exudes instant trust, shared experiences and friendship and is very much in the present.