Music, Parkinsons and Dementia

On ABC the Catalyst program was Music on the Brain.  It was about the power of music to help those with severe Parkinsons and dementia.   A man with advanced Parkinsons could hardly walk.  It was as though his feet were stuck to the floor.  Music was played, music he chose that was meaningful to him.  The man who could hardly walk began to waltz, slowly but smoothly. 

A woman with advanced dementia, who rarely smiled, spoke or interacted was played music through an ipod.  She sang along with the music, she smiled and afterwards had a meaningful conversation about the music.

The Catalyst episode can be viewed here:  http://www.abc.net.au/catalyst/stories/4421003.htm

Years ago I noticed that people who composed, conducted or played music seemed to live longer than non-musical folks.  Live longer and keep all their marbles.  George Martin, the fifth Beatle, died today aged 90. 

Music is the only art form that moves with and through time.  It moves through our blood with the rhythm of our beating heart.  Music moves us to tears or creates that 'oceanic feeling' of awe and joy.
Music has power.  To music we march to war.  With music we are stopped in our tracks to listen to its transient beauty.

I listen to classical music every day.  Mostly, I admit, it is the quiet backdrop to reading or drawing or computing.  I've stopped listening to it when I do yoga finding that I am quieter and deeper within the practice without the distraction.  When much-loved pieces come on, I stop what I'm doing, crank up the sound and stand in the sweet spot in front of the speakers to absorb it through my skin as well as my ears.  Like most people I love music.  I love classical but I also love Joni Mitchell and Ella Fitzgerald, 'world music' (India, Spanish, African, Middle Eastern) and favourite movie soundtracks.

But imagine if my life was music.  What if I wrote, played or somehow created music.  I notice that I feel better after singing for any length of time.  I used to sing all the time.  I rarely sing now which is sad.  To sing with all one's might requires total privacy.  At least for me.

Did music come before language?  Why then do we love birdsong so much?  And the music of crickets and the slow deep music of the sea?  Does it resonate in our blood?

When I saw the awakening through music of those who had been lost in the dim wilds of dementia I cried.  When I saw the man who couldn't walk dance, I cried.  I didn't look at Richard but I began to mentally list his favourite songs.