What’s on your playlist? Better yet, how many playlists do you have? What is the soundtrack for your life? I’m sure most of you have one. People find that life goes better with music. There are certain songs I hear and I am transported back in time to a particular place or person or situation. Some music makes me feel good. Some makes me sad and some gets me pumped up. Music has great power over humans. Movies, television, and stage production all use music to set moods and audience attitudes about characters and actions. Martial music gets patriotic blood flowing and sports participants’ adrenaline ramped up. Politicians, generals and coaches all use music to enhance their messages and the emotions of their audiences.
I wonder what the manipulators of feelings did prior to recorded music. We know that the use of music goes far back into history. But how much influence did primitive instruments like horns and drums have on behavior and emotions? At least by themselves. In conjunction with fasting, drugs, or alcohol, primitive music might have had profound effects on people. In particular, the warrior class used music. Exhibit A is the Berserkers of Norse legend. Over time, music became more complex as instruments grew more sophisticated and their use more widespread.
Music became a part of people’s lives in churches and in large gatherings where orchestras could provide entertainment. The wealthy, of course, always had access to music any time they wanted it. They even commissioned musicians to create the moods they wanted. But even the richest and most powerful people couldn’t carry around an entire orchestra with them to provide a soundtrack to their lives.
The invention of radios, records, and movies changed all that. Everybody became aware of how music affected their mood. Portable devices, such as the transistor radio gave everyone the power to soundtrack their activities. Technology advances now put any music ever recorded in even a poor person’s pocket. And it can be in any order or set list one wishes.
There is a soundtrack to my late son’s life and it included the group Talking Heads. Now, as I struggle with his death, I find myself watching and listening to David Byrne’s music a lot. I was first introduced to it by my sister-in-law after Christopher was born. She gave us a mix tape which included a Talking Heads song titled “Up All Night.” Although it was a joke, I got interested in their music and bought a couple of their CDs.
Christopher was born in a room with classical music playing. At home, we played lots of music and Kim taught the boys many children’s songs. At school, Christopher played clarinet in marching band and jazz band. Kim and I have somewhat different musical tastes and as a result, Christopher was exposed to everything from classic rock to avant-garde jazz. As a teenager, he went through my music collection as a start on building his own. Sting and David Byrne were among his favorites from my records and CDs. Like me, Stop Making Sense was his favorite Talking Heads lineup and release. Before he died, he was working on an essay inspired by Byrne’s “Once in a Lifetime.“
For the uninitiated, Talking Heads music features catchy danceable beats achieved in unusual ways. For example, instead of the rhythm part being played on a six string guitar, it might be done on Tina Weymouth’s bass. But it is their lyrics that really make their music stand out. Each verse is an easily repeated poem that makes sense by itself. But it seems almost independent of the other lyrics. The words of the whole song only loosely tie together if at all. They seldom create an entire narrative. “Life During Wartime“ is a perfect example. People often think the title is This ain’t no Disco due to its repetition in the chorus. The song draws you into a realistic but make-believe world that creates more questions than answers. Who are they running from? What are they fighting for?
Of all the Talking Heads’ songs, “Burning Down the House“ is the one I keep playing over and over again lately. The pairing of the awful words “burning down the house” and the energizing upbeat music just doesn’t make sense. Of course, not making sense is a David Byrne trademark. His lyrics are like the Zen koan about the sound of one hand clapping. As a grieving father, I cannot make sense out of my son’s death. And yet I need to go on. With the help of a soundtrack, I think I can. At least for a while.
