Not A Blog™

The idea that music and language share an equivalence is nothing new. A quick Google search for the phrase reveals plenty of support for the idea. What I find interesting, however, are a few parallels that I haven’t seen anyone else discuss, so for the sake of completeness regarding the notion, I discuss them here.

I’ve already mentioned this in passing in an older post (not one I brought back as a classic) when I wrote about the kind of music I listen to. One thing I said was that, to me, listening to music is an activity in and of itself. It seems for many people that they listen to music while they’re doing other things. This is true for me while I’m driving—for reasons I’ll be getting to at the end—but not in general. If I listen to music, that’s all I do: listen.

I’m under the impression that this is rather uncommon. Most of my coworkers have headphones at their desks which they have on, so unless they’re doing what I’m doing—wearing headphones so as not to be bothered, but not actually listening to anything through them—they’re listening to music while they’re doing other things. One of the lines on Nanowrimo’s profile page asks what kind of music do you listen to while you’re noveling. Most people have bands or genres listed here. The first year I did it, I put down the kinds of music I listen to in general—but not necessarily what I’m listening to while writing. The second year, I said, “whatever fits the mood of the scene.” Not true. The third year, I put, “whatever fits the mood of the scene without words”, which is closer, but still not true. This past year I was finally comfortable enough to put the truth: nothing. Not ever. Never have. I can’t listen to music while I’m writing.

It took me a while to figure out that most people don’t have a problem listening to music while doing other language-related tasks. I can’t listen to music because it’s too much like talking. Words don’t help, obviously, but word-less music isn’t really any better. I can’t think of words with music playing in the background because they conflict in my brain and it feels like there’s not enough processing power to go around. This is why I’ve always thought the idea of multi-tasking—watching TV while doing homework, for example—is a load of crap, but it’s probably just a load of crap for me.

The other thing I’ve noticed is when I have to deal with just talking, but no music. As part of my current job, I end up editing a lot of voice overs and narrative sound bites. These often need to be edited for brevity or with bad takes, mispronunciations, and the like cut out of the final product. This is as much of an art as a science, because in each stream of speaking, there is a “beat”, not unlike a drum line. It’s not the same thing, of course—and it’s not nearly as rhythmic and regular as poetry, but it’s unmistakable, because if you edit something wrong, everyone can tell. On the other hand, when you edit something which exactly matches the existing rhythm, nobody can tell there’s been an edit. (By the way, never screw an editor. They hold the power to make you look like the smartest guy on the planet, or the biggest fool.) I find I can tap my foot along with conversation in much the same way I can to the beat of music.

The other parallel I’ve noticed recently, is this. It’s funny how any given group of language speakers can imitate another language with just a few particular sounds. It’s comical, but also has enough truth in that everyone recognizes the language that it’s supposed to be (to within a few, anyway). From what I’ve heard, English is often imitated with its distinctive “R” and long, flat vowels. Something akin to aarraaraaraa, which I personally find to be hilaarrious.

Recently, I was talking with an acquaintance and the subject of music came up. Let me digress for a second to ask the following question: is it just by virtue of the fact of my interests and overall personality that anyone who meets me just “knows” that I like techno? Because this assumption has been made numerous times whilst speaking to me. It’s correct, of course. I’m just curious as to how everyone knows.

So everyone “knows” I like techno. This particular person said, “I don’t like techno; it all sounds the same.” I found this interesting because I used to use exactly the same excuse about rap and country. It all sounds the same! Lame! Except, of course, that it doesn’t all sound the same once you start listening to it. That is, once you start “understanding” the genre and its songs. In the same way one can imitate the breadth of an entire language with a few choice sounds, so, too, can one imitate an entire genre of music by reducing it to, well, a few choice sounds. “Lemme do an impression of Ted’s music,” said this person. “Ehnts, ehnts, ehnts,” he chanted, which, while stereotypical, isn’t really that far off. (It also raised a question in my brain as to what he meant by “Ted’s music”: my music that I wrote, or music that I listen to? Because I, personally, don’t overdo the ehnts, if I may be so bold.)

In any case, those are a few more things that lend support to the idea that music and language are intertwined.

The problem I’ve noticed, then, is that I seem to be the only person in the world who has only one language channel in their brain. No one else appears to have a problem carrying on a conversation while there’s a TV on in the background—or talking on the phone in a room where other people are talking—or, for that matter, listening to music while reading a web page or writing code. My single language channel handles all of written and spoken language and music, so I can do one, or the other, or the other, but not two. Along those lines, if I’m doing something else that doesn’t require language skills, such as driving or drawing, I can listen to music without any problems.

Finally, there’s the annoyance that is bad spelling. If I’m so bad at spelling while writing, what does this say about me trying to write music?

-Ted