Music has the power to penetrate deeply into our consciousness. The ability of certain amnesiacs, and of people with various brain disorders which devastate memory, to nevertheless still be able to recall music and even perform it is no less than miraculous. We each have a subconsciously-managed inner jukebox that can bring vivid images to our minds of music we are familiar with, and our brains automatically create innumerable associations between our experiences in the world and this storehouse of music that we hold deep in our memory banks.
We have learned through developments in the field of neurophysiology that there are distinct processing modules in the brain that are dedicated only to handling musical information. While some modules also exist which have cross-functionality and handle the processing of information related to both music and language, it is fascinating to learn that with respect to certain features such as pitch recognition, which is an essential element of musical melody and speech prosody (which conveys contextual and emotional information for spoken language), the functionalities are actually dissociated in the brain. Although they outwardly appear to be similar, the human brain has evolved in such a way as to process pitch variance information related to music in completely separate modules of the brain than the pitch variances of speech.
Linguistic scholars have reached a fairly wide consensus that prior to the advent of modern language, or even the development of a proto-language (in which simplistic combinations of consonant and vowel sounds were used to express information about the world and our inner states), the evolving human being used variations in vocal pitch to communicate. Essentially, we sang or hummed melodic pitch contours in order to express the essential emotional and self-preserving information of life to each other. Some linguistic experts and evolutionary psychologists have taken the position that the subsequent development of language became such a superior means of communicating literal information that it rendered the ongoing use of vocal melodic pitch expressions as superfluous. However, we see that there is much contradicting evidence which indicates that humans actually continued to refine these melodic expressions for other purposes that were essential to the development of our emotional, intellectual, and spiritual makeup — conveying literal information through language was not the only significant means of vocal expression, and the engagement in musical expressions was not done for mere entertainment or pleasure.The musical expressions that ultimately grew into what we currently conceive of as music served a vital role in our overall growth both before and after the advent of language.
If we communicated to each other through variations of vocal pitch, i.e., what are essentially expressive melodies (as simplistic as they might have been compared to our modern idea of melody) then there is no doubt that we developed a vast network of internal brain connections to deal with this melodic information, starting with the task of storing and recalling pitch melodies. We would have needed to remember information regarding specific interactions with our fellow family and tribe members, something that we would have begun to do at an early stage of life, as children refining our understanding of the meanings of these expressions. We would have used these pitch melodies in our internal thoughts to rehearse future interactions with our fellows, and we would have naturally used them in our general thought processes as well, as we contemplated how to deal with the world, just as we do today with our thoughts that are composed with the words of spoken language.
Linguistics, through the study of the use of pitch prosody in modern-day language, as well as the study of tonal languages in use today in which the definitions of some words are determined by the tone of pitch employed by the speaker, will undoubtedly help us move closer to an understanding of the meanings behind the various pitch-contours that were used in this prehistoric communication system. The study of Infant-Directed-Speech (also known as “IDS” or “Motherese”) will also help. Along these lines, some ethologists are already working diligently to correlate the pitch contours that appear in monkey and ape vocalizations today to those employed by humans. We should also bring into the fold the various ethnomusicologists who have studied the traditional and spontaneous musical outbursts of the religious and other emotionally-laden music of modern-day hunter-gatherer societies who have continued to live in a level of technological and cultural advancement consistent with that of our Paleolithic ancestors, as these offer a compelling perspective for what may have been common practice in prehistoric life.
The downstream impact of the revelations that have already come to light has scarcely yet been felt. By revising our conceptions of how the human intellect developed, how language grew, and why music has been a central component to the development of our social structures and religions, we undoubtedly now have the task of needing to revisit many of our conventional beliefs in anthropology, sociology, psychology, theology, philosophy, and music itself, which were all developed in the past without the benefit of considering this information. The medical field should also pay particular attention since the discipline of music therapy in its role as both a physical and psychological medical intervention will also be significantly touched by the ongoing developments of thought in this area concerning, well . . . the development of thought itself.
Who knows. Maybe this will even lead to the direct engagement once again in music-thoughts, consciously employed to better understand the implications of our prehistoric use of musical thoughts and its impact on human life. We may be able to stimulate music-thoughts in patients for physical and/or psychological healing. We may even find musicians and composers who can put highly engaging music-thoughts into our heads. (Wait! That’s what they’ve been doing all along, isn’t it?!) Additionally, this perspective has the potential to greatly enhance our general appreciation of music, as well as to open up whole new vistas on the possibilities for creating new music.
There’s really no telling what we can do, enlightened by this enhanced perspective.
Ok, so talk — I mean hum, or sing wordlessly — amongst yourselves now.
Raylius, I’m sure there is a great deal more erudition in your book than these naive ramblings (which I’m similarly sure form some sub-set of your book’s observations.) Nevertheless, I’ve seen it borne out in the best op-eds, speeches, songs, and poems (whether formalist or free verse) that language is an inherently musical phenomenon. The overwhelming impression that musicians are in conversation with one another and with their audience is the complementary cliche. They are two sides of a coin, the one riddled with intent and specifics, the other dependent on the pure relationship of tone and time.
What I’ve observed is that compelling language is impossible without compelling cadence. This is so much the case that we speak of a writer’s “voice.” There’s a music to speech, just as surely as there’s a mathematics to music. Metric feet and substitution have reliable uses – Trochees are forceful; Iambs range from stately to conversational; dactyls lend themselves, higgledy-piggledy, to light topics — as do anapests (they of the limerick form). There’s no such thing as free verse, there is only unscanned verse; free verse can be so heavily metric as to sound sing-song. English conversation is not a tonal language, but when the expected tonal map shifts, we read it as indicating movements of great import (as in the current interest in “upspeak,” in which statements are phrased in a rising tone typically reserved for questions.)
I think of thought — consciousness, as opposed to observation/instinctual association — as rooted in memory and in future-oriented thought, that is to say, in an internal life that includes time — and music is nothing but vibration in time. To say “I,” and so become homo sapiens sapiens (self-aware human,) is to invite an internal monolog encompassing past, present, and future. Clearly, to write or to perform a symphony requires this dimension, although I am not certain of, for example, a drum circle. If the latter too requires an orderly internal awareness of time and the self, it would not be too much to say, for the musician, I think therefore I jam. Music in that case is language’s twin, sound in time with no intent but to resolve.
“I think, therefore I jam”–a new axiom for the age.
Check out Peter Auer, et al., Language in Time (1999) for deep thoughts on the overlooked role of rhythm in language.
What makes this conversation all the more fascinating is how music, and perhaps especially the rhythm of your drum circle, has powers that can help us transcend thought and the ordinary parsing of past, present, and future to allow for some temporary experience of a unified whole (or at least, we might say, a single-minded attention on the present) beyond the observational/instinctual awareness stage.