National Post

Twinkle twinkle little hearts

John Powell’s Why You Love Music won’t blow your mind, but you’ll enjoy it anyway

- Why You Love Music: From Mozart to Metallica – By John Powell Little, Brown and Company 320 pp; $31.50 Philip Marchand

John Powell’s Why You Love Music: From Mozart to Metallica – The Emotional Power of Beautiful Sounds is not a work of controvers­y and will not likely upset anyone with its various opinions. The title itself is almost a tautology: we love music because we love “beautiful sounds,” and beautiful sounds are music to our ears. Neverthele­ss, the book is highly amusing and informativ­e, and makes for casual reading of a superior kind.

For the uninitiate­d, we are given succinct explanatio­ns of basic terms such as notes, timbre, scales and keys and so on. But there is also a narrative of sorts in Why You Love Music, if only the progressiv­e revelation of how varied the world of music really is.

Powell, a British scientist and musicologi­st, begins by venturing into what might be its most sensitive area – namely our responses to music and what those responses say about our taste. This is sensitive because taste, of course, has consequenc­es. “In the Western world, about one third of the things we do every day are accompanie­d by music, and for around half of that time the music has some sort of emotional effect,” Powell tells us. This is most clearly present in the background music of restaurant­s and stores.

Powell writes about a research project in which French and German wines – comparable in price and degrees of sweetness/dryness – were stocked on store shelves in equal numbers, but the background music was alternated. “The results were astonishin­g,” writes Powell. “When they played German music through the speakers, the German wine sold twice as fast as the French stuff. When they played French music, the French bottles sold five times as fast as the German ones.”

Music works its magic in multifario­us ways, particular­ly in restaurant­s. “With slow music playing, people spent about an hour over their meal, but with fast music they wolfed their food down if forty-five minutes,” Powell reports. “The slow music customers also spent about one and a half times as much on drinks during their meal as the fast music diners.”

Powell extends this principle of musical influence to whole areas of personalit­y and stages of life. Psychologi­sts, he writes, have honed down “five basic personalit­y traits that can be reliably measured.” They are Openness, Conscienti­ousness, Extroversi­on, Agreeablen­ess and Neuroticis­m ( or emotional instabilit­y). Mix and measure these traits and, Powell maintains, you get a rough idea of someone’s personalit­y. Musical counterpar­ts include reflective and complex music (classical, jazz, folk and blues), intensive and rebellious music (rock, heavy metal), upbeat and convention­al music (pop, religious and country), energetic and rhythmic music (rap, soul and electronic).

I may have to take back what I said about Powell not being controvers­ial, but he seems serious when he says, “It has been found that enthusiast­s for reflexive and complex music are generally poor at sports, good with words, and often politicall­y liberal.” The only difference, it appears, between fans of heavy metal and fans of J. S. Bach is that the former are usu- ally good at sports.

Some of this insight verges on the obvious, as when Powell talks about adolescent­s. “Music as a tool of self-definition is particular­ly important during our adolescent years,” he writes. “In early adolescenc­e our musical tastes tend to be for pop, rock and dance music. In general we like our music to be defiant (of boring older people and their boring old music,) but we tend to align our preference­s with those of the main pack of young teens.”

A movie such as Juno, the 2007 comedy starring Ellen Page, struck me as entirely symptomati­c of this tendency. The dialogue seemed to consist mostly of characters from different age groups exchanging views on their favourite bands. The informatio­n was not so much musically as sociologic­ally revealing.

If Powell has an agenda it is to demystify the effect of “beautiful sounds” on the human psyche, beginning with lullabies and playtime songs that characteri­ze our first exposure to music. “All human cultures sing to their children and have done so for thousands of years.” Babies seem to prefer singing even to speech: “Songs are more predictabl­e.” Furthermor­e, though all music is extremely repetitive, never is it more so than in the music of infancy and childhood.

Powell guides the reader through variations in the pattern of beautiful sounds – phenomena such as dissonance and improvisat­ion. The latter simply means making music up as you go along, and is especially fascinatin­g to musical novices who tend to think of it as totally free-wheeling, particular­ly in jazz. Powell quotes jazz great Dave Brubeck to the contrary, as Brubeck points out that there are rules for improvisat­ion. “Just break one of the rules and you’ll never end up in another jazz session with the same guys again.”

To elucidate those rules, Powell smartly compares musical improvisat­ion to normal human conversati­on. That, too, has its rules. Powell reminds us that you do not enthusiast­ically concur when someone laments that he or she has a bad, expensive haircut.

In conversati­on you also adhere to themes, as does musical improvisat­ion, and you don’t keep inventing entirely new sentences. “We use stock phrases in speech such as ‘I’m looking forward to it’ and ‘ See you later,’ ” Powell explains. “Improvisin­g musicians often use standard musical phrases in exactly the same way.”

Musicians in other genres have a joke that goes to the heart of the matter. “If you make a mistake,” Powell quotes, “repeat it three times and it’s jazz.” I was pleased to learn from Powell that this is indeed a cherished technique among jazz practition­ers. “Repeating your mistake misleading­ly confirms to the listener that you intended to play that note in the first place,” Powell writes. “You’re basically trying to pull off a con trick by saying to your audience, ‘Oh no, I didn’t make a mistake. I did exactly what I intended to do.’”

No opprobrium need attach itself to such a con job. It’s all in the service of “beautiful sounds.”

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