When I read the article "On My Changing Relationship to Music" I felt a very powerful connection. In so many ways, I felt that I was reading about myself. As a senior music therapy student I often look back on my long journey through music as I try to figure out how I got here and where I want to go.
I, like Michele, began my relationship with music at a very young age. I remember watching my old brother taking piano lessons and longing to have the same experience. At the age of 6, I did start piano lessons. I continued with piano lessons all the way through high school while also learning trombone in middle school.
High school was somewhat of a difficult time for me when it came to the point of needing to decide a major for college. Unlike Michele, I come from a long line of music majors. I was determined to be the first in my family to not go into music. I was going to go into education. I never dreamed that this is where I would have ended up.
At some point in high school I realized that music was my passion, and there was no way I could give it up. Fortunately, I found a way to combine my passion for music with my love for working with people with disabilities.
As a music therapy major I have found new ways to use music to help people. I have had many different clinical experiences that have made me look at music differently. I have opened my eyes to many different styles of music such as country and rap. Because I am working in Kentucky, there have been several situations where clients have requested country music. I have never really loved country music, but because of where I am I have learned to have an appreciation for it. Also, last year I worked in a psychiatric hospital with a group of children. Doing that helped me to have a greater appreciation for rap. Rap is a type of music that I never even tried to understand. I have come to realize that rap music has a very powerful connection with so many people. In so many ways I feel like those experiences have shaped who I am now and who I will become.
My relationship to music has gone through so many phases. While I am not sure where it will lead me next, I have no doubt that it will be exciting and fulfilling.
Having played an instrument since before I can remember, music has never taken a backseat in any point of my life; since starting my new path in music therapy I have been reflecting on my relationship to music in my 30's. Michele Forinash's essay "On My Changing Relationship to Music" (2003) struck a resonant chord with me, and reiterated that in the journey of life there are certain cornerstones that are constantly shifting, but always present. For me, music has been at the core of my self-identity, from early childhood through college, and in my career after college. Now in my pursuit of a Masters degree in music therapy, music has deepened my yearning for human connection and the ways in which music can become that tie that binds us. In our current world with text messages, social networking sites, Skype, and virtual tours, I feel we have lost touch with the meaning of human connection, to be present with another person in time, in mind, and in spirit. Music -making, -listening, -writing, or -improvising allows us the experience of making a connection between our minds and our bodies, and sharing that with others.
At my first-year internship site at an elderly residence facility, a resident on the nursing home/dementia unit has been getting weekly one-on-one visits with the music therapist for over two years. Jane is high-functioning and ambulatory but shows symptoms of dementia. She spends much of the day in her room lying on her bed or sitting in a chair, putting her at risk for depression, isolation and decreasing self-worth. During their weekly sessions together, the music therapist most often plays Jane's favorite music from film scores or other classical pieces, usually ending with the theme from the film "Schindler's List." They sit and talk about how the music stirs their emotions, and any images or memories the music might trigger. Jane keeps a photo of her deceased husband on her bedside table, and often tells stories of their life together. As I was sitting in on one of their meetings, the music therapist mentioned to Jane that she could buy a CD or mp3 player so she could listen to the music that she loved so much whenever she wanted, not just with her on Friday afternoons. "But," Jane said, "if I bought one of those, you would stop coming to see me."
Music is Jane's connection to her emotions, to her memories, and to a feeling of being connected to someone. Were Jane to buy a music player, the music therapist would certainly not stop visiting, as she told her; Jane would benefit by experiencing more of the positive emotions she feels when listening to music, and would lessen her feelings of isolation and depression for which she is at risk. It is the human connection that Jane cherishes so deeply, that is stimulated by the act of listening to music with someone. Jane might see their time together as a recreational visit from the music therapist, however it is a systemic music therapy intervention based in analytical (Priestly) and person-centered theories. The music therapist is able to engage Jane in a receptive experience (Forinash, 2005) through the recorded music, and allow her a safe and relaxed space to probe deeper into her consciousness and express her positive and negative emotions.
Performing music on the stage requires a level of emotional ambivalence and disconnection. A musician practices to perform the music as it is written on the page and must follow instructions for dynamics, rhythm, and tempo. However, improvisations and activities in community and analytical music therapy illicit much different emotions, ones that can't be hidden or marginalized. Creating music becomes an agent of emotional understanding, and can deepen a cognitive realization of emotional states. It is impossible to hide in the music. What a client feels will be what they play if they can focus on their own feelings, look inward and get deep, and find a pulse on their internal emotional rhythms. Improvising music can be very vulnerable and surprising, and a music therapist is there to facilitate that process.
My internship facility offers drumming groups for the residents, most of whom are living with various levels of dementia and Alzheimer's, and physical limitations. The drumming groups are led by the music therapist and are well-attended from week to week with anywhere from 10-18 residents. They attend groups on their own will, and are never forced to participate. Aside from the benefits that drumming provides to the neurological functions of the brain and the cognitive stimulation (Friedman, 2000), the group provides a sense of community, of connectedness, and social stimulation for the residents. Many residents who attend few other groups are regulars in the drumming, not only because of the enjoyment of creating music and rhythm, but because of the physical changes in mood, body language, and the release of adrenaline from such an experience. Drumming is an activity that people of all physical and cognitive abilities can participate in, and even residents who are not actively drumming are gaining benefits from the rhythmic stimulation. The activity increases resident's self-expression, group dynamic behavior, creative spontaneity, and gives them a voice through the drum that otherwise might be silenced by their physical limitations. By nature of being present in the drum circle with their peers, the residents are stimulating their minds and enhancing their spirits.
Having studied for over 15 years to be a performing musician, I have experienced the idea of musical connections in many respects. Not only is there a personal connection with a musician and their instrument, but with an ensemble and audience as a community. Whether it was performing with a marching band, flute ensemble, female a Capella group, or small trio, I and each member of a group had to be an offshoot of each voice and be able to communicate without words through facial expressions and eye contact. Even as a solo performer alone on stage, I had to make a connection with the audience for it to be part of the overall artistic experience; the music becomes the container for human connection.
For most of my life I felt like I was at the center of a musical orbit universe: performing in ensembles, independent practice time, and the goings-on of a student. I myself was spinning on a trajectory, as well as being surrounded by hundreds of other peoples' orbits. Now as I am knee-deep in music therapy theories and work at my internship site, I realize that it is the connection that creating music provides that makes it that much more meaningful. Community music therapy, group activities, and analytical music therapy are effective clinical interventions to deepen the opportunities for musical connection and human interaction which have been swallowed by the technological connections that have taken over our daily lives. The act of listening or creating Music is so simple, yet as a didactic experience becomes complex and meaningful. We are each living in our own orbits, and music is one of the universal powers that can create bridges of connection. My focus now is not on myself, but the client, and learning how to feel present in the music that is the third point to this orbital triangle. I am not playing the music for evocative art, I am providing it for emotional change. My hope is that in this next phase of my life, my relationship to music continues to permeate outwards, and that the music is able to support my therapeutic bonds with future clients and their emotional connections.
References
Ansdell, Gary (2002). Community Music Therapy & The Winds of Change. [online] Voices: A World Forum for Music Therapy. Retrieved December 7, 109, from http://www.voices.no/mainissues/Voices2(2)ansdell.html
Forinash, Michele (2003). On my Changing Relationship to Music [online] Voices: A World Forum for Music Therapy. Retrieved December 6, 109, from http://www.voices.no/columnist/colforinash160701.html
Forinash, Michele (2005). Expressive Therapies. Edited by Cathy Malchiodi. New York, Guildford Press. pg. 48.
Friedman, Robert Lawrence. The Healing Power of the Drum. Reno, NV: White Cliffs; 2000.
As someone launching into the field of music therapy from a background in music performance, I have become deeply impacted not only by the new ways I find myself relating to music, but also by the ways in which it seems to relate to me. Through recent reflection and conversation, I have started to identify many of the roles music has played in my life and how tightly knit it is into the very essence of who I am. Because of these recent ponderings, I was especially grateful to discover Michele Forinash's (2001) account of her personal experience through her article entitled, "On my Changing Relationship to Music." I found Sarah Finger's (2007) response to the article equally stimulating and appreciate the opportunity to hear her story as well.
Forinash (2001), Finger (2007), and I have in common the fact that our relationships with music began in the youngest years of life. Though I also began traditional piano lessons in early elementary school, my earliest memories of music began far before that. I recall perceiving music as a language, source of comfort, and method of learning from my toddler years. My parents sang to me frequently as I endured an upset stomach or a long grocery-shopping trip. I recall the words "I love you" often being set to a tune as well as the alphabet and various Bible verses to which I would sing while riding in the car. While these musical encounters were often introduced in order to simply have fun or combat boredom, I remember them as meaning much more. To me, the music was proof of the security I learned I had in my parents and the learning and loving environment they had created for me.
I began formal music lessons at the age of seven; first on the piano, then on percussion instruments at the age of ten. During this stage, a new dimension was added to my relationship with music. Through the pursuit of note accuracy and teacher/audience satisfaction, I learned that music was not an entirely safe entity. Though it provided me with many feelings of empowerment, confidence and thrill when I was successful, the unsuccessful times brought feelings of defeat and inferiority. I began to view my relationship with music as one similar to the relationship a climber has with a mountain. I saw the mountain as superior to myself and learned to base my perception of success on milestones I was able to pass, not on the journey itself. Fortunately, I continued to love music as a source of excitement and positive challenge, savoring the cherished moments of aesthetic beauty when they came. Like Michele Forinash (2001), I also recognized and enjoyed the ability of music in this setting to forms social bond's to other performers. These two things played a large role in my decision to attend a music conservatory to study percussion performance for my undergraduate training.
Though I found it within my grasp to meet the demands of the musical mountain as a performer, I found myself dissatisfied with the relationship I had formed with music. As I reflected, I saw the relationship as being self-fulfilling to a degree that was not intrinsic to my personality and which I did not find to be especially fulfilling. I had a vision of my personal relationship with music being used to benefit others. Furthermore, I wanted the relationship to be more like that of a carpenter and a hammer than a climber and a mountain. I felt that in this setting, people were expected to serve the music and do it justice, but I wanted to use the music to serve people.
Forinash mentioned a moment of clarity in which "it was as if [her] entire body began to resonate and [she] knew without a doubt that [she] wanted to be a music therapist" (¶7). I experienced this same sensation after sitting in her office a year ago, looking into music therapy for the very first time, myself. I chose to enroll in Lesley University's masters program in music therapy and mental health counseling and am now three months into the program. During the past few months, my relationship with music has changed drastically for the better. I have come to know music as a powerful, but flexible force that has the ability to reach many types of people and fulfill many kinds of needs (Boxill, 2007). I now believe that my fellow music-makers and I have the power to determine what is successful and meaningful within an experience, not just the musically elite, whoever they are. Through my pursuit of playing the guitar, I have found an outlet for improvisatory and recreational play. This has brought back and expanded the first part of my relationship with music, which was one of security. I now have a place where I can turn to create music in a non-threatening environment and simply relax or process the day. This has challenged and healed much of what I learned as a performer without squelching many of the positive aspects of the relationship such as being confident, assertive and determined.
It has certainly been an intense emotional and cognitive journey to reach this place in my relationship with music and I anticipate that there is much more to come. Though I am aware of the fact that this kind of growth is often trying, I am grateful that music itself has provided me with a number of the important strengths that will accompany and propel me through the process.
References
Boxill, E.H. (2007). Music Therapy for the Developmentally Disabled, 2nd ed. New York: Pro-Ed.
Finger, Sarah (2007). Response to "On my Changing Relationship to Music" by Michele Forinash [Contribution to Moderated Discussions] Voices: A World Forum for Music Therapy. Retrieved from http://voices.no/?q=content/response-my-changing-relationship-music-mich...
Forinash, Michele (2003). On my Changing Relationship to Music [online] Voices: A World Forum for Music Therapy. Retrieved November 23, 108, from http://voices.no/?q=fortnightly-columns/2001-my-changing-relationship-music