Music makes you feel better

Well obviously not. It’s clearly not as simple as that. But there is something about this idea that can sneak into music therapy. Certainly perceptions of MT from outside might go along with this – “It must be so rewarding”, or referrals which tell us how much a child enjoys music. And of course music can make you feel better. I had a gig not long ago which caused me to think about this. It was a jazz trio in a bar. Not much money, but some interested listeners, free beer, and a nice meal thrown in half way through. We played entirely music by Cole Porter, who is one of my favourite song writers. It was very enjoyable. The nice environment didn’t hurt. The opportunity to pay exactly the music I like, validating all the years of hard work learning how to play jazz, without too much pressure, but with some positive attention from a friendly audience, made a great combination. We had a lovely evening. After the gig I hung around and chatted to a few people, friends who had come along. I still felt good, which was related to the music. People told me they had enjoyed it, which boosted my ego. I didn’t feel as good as when I’d been actually playing though. There was some feeling of loss already. Then I had to get into my car and drive home. This was ok. The next day I felt sad. No jazz gigs in the diary for a while. I was already mourning the loss of the experience. So did the experience, overall, make me feel better? I don’t think so. What it did was reconnect me with something important and remind me that I need more of it. It made me feel more rather than better.

I did an assessment session recently with a boy who had a diagnosis of ASD and a history of trauma. He was an amazing drummer. And by that I don’t just mean he was a good drummer, I mean that I was actually amazed. After 10 minutes of playing the piano with him and becoming increasingly aware of his strong time feel I switched to saxophone. He stopped playing and shifted the groove into a slower tempo, with a very groovy shuffle feel, as if he’d played with saxophone players before, and he knew what sounded good with the instrument. This has never happened to me before in a session to quite such a marked degree. It raised a lot of questions. Was the music helping him in some way? His verbal communication was limited, making it difficult to get his non-musical perspective, but clearly his musical motivation was strong. But how did he feel when the music stopped? Did the positive effect so apparent during the session extend beyond the immediate experience? The natural assumption is that his high level of musicality is an indication that this is a good referral to music therapy, but it might also be possible that he doesn’t need it. He can already use music and it doesn’t require fostering or facilitating. Maybe he just needs a band to be in. Or – an even more pessimistic point of view – he can do music, but it doesn’t really help him. It’s just something he feels compelled to do.

I don’t think that last one is true by the way, but in the absence of certainty it remains a possibility. It’s certainly plausible that after playing he feels a bit like I did in the car on the way back from my gig – just ok. Our emotional response to music is unpredictable. Ever put your favourite piece of music on the stereo and it have no effect at all? Ever been surprisingly affected by a piece you’d heard a million times, but then experienced differently in a new context? Music can shake things up, alter perspective, reset your emotional responsiveness - sometimes. What it doesn’t always do is make you feel good. Therapy, of course, can actually trigger negative emotions, which can make it hard to want to go, even for people who are strongly motivated, but the temptation to evoke the music in music therapy as the positive bit, the ‘selling point’, leads to shaky ground. “Enjoy your session” is something I often hear from a parent or teacher when I collect a child for their session. “We’ll see”, I think to myself.