WHY DO HUMANS LIKE MUSIC?

No one knows why humans like music; why dopamine floods our brains when we hear certain patterns of sound and tempo. Scientists are conducting research on the subject.


On April 1, 2014, scientists in Jefferson City, Missouri discovered that mice could play the tiny saxophones they manufactured in their labs.

One surprise, for me at least, was to learn that some animals enjoy music. The music should resonate with their heartbeats and play at natural, species-specific pitches and timbres.

It takes effort to create the music animals like. And they won’t pay for it. Even pets—most of them, anyway—don’t self-identify as music lovers.


The Prairie Dog Three are currently on tour in Utah and New Mexico.
The Prairie Dog Three are currently on tour in Utah and New Mexico.

As far as I know, only one species take the time to create tools to play music: homo sapiens. But many animals such as gibbons, birds, whales, insects—even the dog next door—make noises that sound suspiciously like music to most people. Research continues.

Music is not something that exists in the universe apart from conscious life. Music seems to require a conscious mind to produce and another more or less semi-conscious mind to hear and appreciate it.

The sensation of pleasure initiated by vibrations of air entering the ear canal is the result of auditory hallucinations created in the mind. Air molecules bounce off structures in the ear to stimulate the brain to manufacture mysterious sensations called sound, which unleash an avalanche of chemical (emotional) reactions inside the body of the listener.

Many parts of the brain are involved in music appreciation. It is known, for example, that the visual, tactile, olfactory, and gustatory areas of the brain are stimulated by music. Research is ongoing—with special emphasis on definitions of words like olfactory and gustatory.


music what sound looks like
3D image of a musical sound. The sound doesn’t look at all like what the sound sounds like.  …mmm…ahhh…

There seems to be no similarity between the simple vibrations entering the ear and the complex and textured mental experience the brain makes when it processes these vibrations to conjure music. It might be sad for some to learn: when life in the universe comes to its end, it will take music with it.


Thomas Edison wore the phonograph he invented on his head as a hearing aid late in life.
Thomas Edison placed the phonograph he patented on his head.  Thus was invented the world’s first hearing-aid.

Most people did not hear much music before the invention of the phonograph in 1877. What music they heard was played by itinerant flute musicians and the occasional wood-nymph on tambourine.

It took decades for the phonograph to become enough widespread to impact the listening habits of average people. As the technology of music became more sophisticated and pervasive, its mystery and wonder inspired scientists to try to figure out just what the hell is going on!?!.


music 1
Simon Cowell stops cotton-candy from dribbling out his ears. Simon’s television career revealed that he is unable to evaluate musical talent.

Current research suggests that as many as 4% of humans do not enjoy music. Whatever the process that is not going on in their heads, it seems to be inherited. Some people simply lack the genetic coding required to process the pleasures of music. If all life mimicked these unfortunates, the concept of music might cease to exist.

Some have said that folks wouldn’t miss it. Music is not necessary for our survival, they say. Humans have lived on Earth for tens-of-thousands of years without any but the most primitive forms.


Grandma, when she was younger.
Grandma when she was young. Note bulky headphones, popular 50 years ago.

That might be. But its irrepressible popularity during the past 50 years in all parts of the world is proof enough. People prefer music. It’s going nowhere.

Here’s some music to help persuade skeptics that music is special:





https://youtu.be/EQ9ftKMWTW4


Billy Lee

Update:  5 July 2016: When Billy Lee wrote this essay two years ago, he was naive; he didn’t know about the dark side of music. Recently he learned that music has been used by intelligence agencies since the 1980s to torture detainees.

Imagine being forced to listen to old sound tracks from the Lawrence Welk Show over and over. It’s a sordid, terrifying prospect.  Billy Lee didn’t want to soil his essay by discussing it.

Alex Ross’s article in the 4 July 2016 issue of the New Yorker Magazine ripped open the underbelly of this stinking carcass of evil. Ross titled his essay, The Sounds of Hate.

Since then, links to the essay have been retitled to When Music is Violence. No one at The Pontificator  knows why the print version and the Internet version are titled differently.

Billy Lee asked that we provide a  link for readers who might want to know more.

The Editorial Board

THE PARROT NEXT DOOR


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Inside the shadows of the lanai next door lurks a loquacious parrot. Bevy Mae and me can’t see him, but we know he’s in there, because he talks — a lot.

We want to meet him. But we are visitors on vacation, and it doesn’t seem quite right to walk up to the neighbor’s front door and announce, “Hi, we’re the neighbors from up north. Can we see your talking parrot?”

It seems a little forward, like something kids might do, right?

Every morning the parrot wakes us up with cries of “Lisa!” and “Chuck, Chuck!” When Chuck and Lisa don’t come running (and so far they haven’t) he can throw a bit of a hissy-fit and bang his cage like a tin can. Sometimes he hurls what sounds like obscenities.

I don’t want our neighbors — who I’ve met by the way; sweet folks from South America — to imagine that my wife and I don’t anything but adore their bird. We really do.

The parrot has an astounding repertoire of words and phrases that are nothing short of amazing. His Burt Lancaster accents and phraseology make me believe he may have been in the movies.

We will keep you posted on all the cute things he says and does.

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4:30PM   The talking parrot was well behaved this afternoon. He said the following:

Charlie! Ow! Come ‘ere!
Hush up!
Hey Dad!
Charlie! Wee ooh!
Charlie! Wee ooh!
Chuck! Chuck!
Tweet! Wee ooh!

(etc. etc.)

10:00PM Friday  We didn’t hear the parrot today. Really miss him.

6:30 PM Sunday  The Parrot is back! Here is a transcript:

Wee ooh! Wee ooh! Hello.
Ee yooh. Tweet. Woo. Charlie!
What!? Joe?
Hey. Hey. Get out here!  [obscenity]
Hey! Hey girl. Hey. Hey.  [obscenity]
Charlie?  [farting sounds]
Hey girl  [whistles]
Hey John!
Tweet. Tweet. Tweet.
Doll?
Hey dad!  Hey dad!  [squeak]
Whoo! Whoo! Chirp. [bangs cage]
Charlie. Charlie. Wee ooh.
Chirp. Chirp.
Hey!  Help!
Whew!

(etc. etc.)

Billy Lee

HEARING LOSS

The title of this post is CAPITALIZED SO YOU CAN HEAR IT!

As many approach their “Golden Years”  (we never quite get there, if you know what I mean) some begin to experience the annoyances of aging.

One annoyance is the way folks mumble; who can understand them? To encourage folks to speak more clearly, I have included actual verbal exchanges — recorded over the past months —  between Grandma Bevy and me.

I hope readers will take the hint and learn to enunciate!


Grandma Bevy:  I think it’s bean soup.
Grandpa Billy:  What’s been sued?

Grandma Bevy:  Julian’s mom worked at Eyde.
Grandpa Billy:  Julian’s mom worked and died?

Grandma Bevy:  Oh look, my pill is scored.
Grandpa Billy:   I got gored? I don’t think so.

Grandma Bevy:  Put your hat in the closet, like a that.
Grandpa Billy:  Like a bat?
Grandma Bevy:  Like a that.
Grandpa Billy:  Like a vat?
Grandma Bevy:  Like that!
Grandpa Billy:  What?

Grandma Bevy:  Do you want one egg or two?
Grandpa Billy:  I want new.
Grandma Bevy:  I said, one or two. Turn up your hearing aid!
Grandpa Billy:  OK. An old one, then.

Grandma Bevy:  So, Chuck got the take out and…
Grandpa Billy:  Chuck got the tank out?
Grandma Bevy:  Take out… take out!

Grandma Bevy:  I guess my group won’t be meeting for another two weeks.
Grandpa Billy:  You aren’t eating for two weeks?  Bev, you don’t have to do that for me.

Grandma Bevy:  Now is a good time to take your blood pressure.
Grandpa Billy:  Take my butt pressure?
Grandma Bevy:  Yes, your blood pressure.
Grandpa Billy:  Sounds good.

Grandma Bevy:  You can have some turkey later.
Grandpa Billy:  I have a turkey flavor?
Grandma Bevy:  If you want to.

Grandma Bevy:  Our kids are traveling in Europe this summer. We’ll probably be at home.
Grandpa Billy:  We’ll be in a home?
Grandma Bevy:  You might be.

Grandma Bevy:  There are some real egos in that neighborhood.
Grandpa Billy:  Eagles? No way.
Grandma Bevy:  I said egos. There are some big egos in those big houses.
Grandpa Billy:  Maybe some hawks. No eagles.

Grandma Bevy:  Oh look! A new dishwasher.
Grandpa Billy:  A nude dishwasher?

Grandma Bevy:  I texted Doug for his birthday.
Grandpa Billy:  You hexed Doug on his birthday? That’s not right.

Grandma Bevy:  I have to call Perry’s office to get a refill on my prescription.
Grandpa Billy:  Call your parent’s office?
Grandma Bevy:  Perry’s office. Perry’s office! Clean your ears!

Grandma Bevy:  Am I in your way?
Grandpa Billy:  Am Miami way?
Grandma Bevy:  No. Am I?

Grandma Bevy:  Mary has been placed in hospice care.
Grandpa Billy:  Mary hasn’t paid her hospice care? She was always so responsible.

Grandma Bevy:  You put the shades down in the bedroom. Afraid someone’s going to see your body?
Grandpa Billy:  Seize my coffee? I don’t drink coffee in the bedroom. Never have.

Grandma Bevy:  We haven’t seen the neighbors in their hot tub lately.
Grandpa Billy:  In their hot dog?

Grandma Bevy:  You can put the plates and silverware on the table.
Grandpa Billy:  I can put the plastic silverware on the table?
Grandma Bevy:  Plates, PLATES!!! (Throws up hands)

Grandma Bevy:  I’m going to physical therapy now.
Grandpa Billy:  Hysterical therapy?
Grandma Bevy:  Oh, for crying out loud.

Grandma Bevy:  Guess what? I have a urinary tract infection.
Grandpa Billy:  You have a yearning for a track infection?  Why, Bev, why?

Grandma Bevy:  My sciatic nerve is killing me.
Grandpa Billy:  Your psychiatric nerve is bothering you?
Grandma Bevy:  You certainly are. (Glares, rolls eyes)

Grandma Bevy:  I thought you said you were going to e-mail her.
Grandpa Billy:  Female her?
Grandma Bevy:  Billll…Y.. !?!

Grandma Bevy:  Did you know that tea, coffee, and cocoa contain different stimulants? I’m a nurse, right?  I studied dietetics.
Grandpa Billy:  Diuretics? Heh! I studied beer-drinking. ‘Course, that was a long time ago — before my prostrate swoll and nearly killed me.

Grandma Bevy:  You don’t drink much now.
Grandpa Billy:  I think plenty. I’m sharp as a tack.

Grandma Bevy:  Don’t hear so good either.
Grandpa Billy:  Donneer soggy ether? 
Grandma Bevy:  Here’s a straw. Finish your soup, dear.

Grandma Bevy:  You dropped a glob of jelly on the table cloth.
Grandpa Billy:  … on the tuna cloth?
Grandma Bevy: [starts singing to herself]



Billy Lee