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The case studies here are finely observed, judiciously expressed, and genuinely fascinating.
Sacks opens his book with a striking case, rather literally striking. Tony Cicoria, a forty-two-year-old orthopedic surgeon, was making a phone call to his mother when he was struck in the face by lightning. He thought he was dead immediately following the event but sustained no serious injuries and went back to work a few weeks later. But then, quite unexpectedly, he experienced an intense craving to listen to piano music—something he had never felt before. He started listening to piano music all the time, couldn't get enough of it. Then, a little later, he started hearing piano music in his head, insistently and powerfully; he felt the need to write it down, though he had no training in musical notation. Soon he was teaching himself to play the piano, playing the tunes that came to him unbidden at all moments. He played the piano at every opportunity, driving his wife to distraction. He had a bad case of sudden-onset musicophilia, somehow triggered by the brain alterations wrought by the lightning. He had become, in effect, a completely new person, evidently because of having had his brain electrically rewired.
The rest of the first section of the book, aptly entitled "Haunted by Music," deals with musical pathologies, great and small. Sacks notes that not only do human beings listen to music a lot, they also imagine music constantly; so even if your ears aren't being musically stimulated, you may be self-stimulating musically the rest of the time. Sometimes, we voluntarily produce musical images, as when we sing a song to ourselves for the fun of it, but we can also be subject to involuntary musical imagery. We are all familiar with that insistent tune that runs through our head against our will and taste (I was recently subjected to the chorus of Tom Jones's "She's a Lady" for about a week—a song I dislike and despise).
A few years ago I had a line that stayed with me a couple days.."Come on Barbie, Let's go party augh augh augh!" "I'm a Barbie girl, In a Barbie world.." whoa I gotta stop, before it comes back again, anyhow another snippet..from Sacks--not Aqua Sacks opens his book with a striking case, rather literally striking. Tony Cicoria, a forty-two-year-old orthopedic surgeon, was making a phone call to his mother when he was struck in the face by lightning. He thought he was dead immediately following the event but sustained no serious injuries and went back to work a few weeks later. But then, quite unexpectedly, he experienced an intense craving to listen to piano music—something he had never felt before. He started listening to piano music all the time, couldn't get enough of it. Then, a little later, he started hearing piano music in his head, insistently and powerfully; he felt the need to write it down, though he had no training in musical notation. Soon he was teaching himself to play the piano, playing the tunes that came to him unbidden at all moments. He played the piano at every opportunity, driving his wife to distraction. He had a bad case of sudden-onset musicophilia, somehow triggered by the brain alterations wrought by the lightning. He had become, in effect, a completely new person, evidently because of having had his brain electrically rewired.
The rest of the first section of the book, aptly entitled "Haunted by Music," deals with musical pathologies, great and small. Sacks notes that not only do human beings listen to music a lot, they also imagine music constantly; so even if your ears aren't being musically stimulated, you may be self-stimulating musically the rest of the time. Sometimes, we voluntarily produce musical images, as when we sing a song to ourselves for the fun of it, but we can also be subject to involuntary musical imagery. We are all familiar with that insistent tune that runs through our head against our will and taste (I was recently subjected to the chorus of Tom Jones's "She's a Lady" for about a week—a song I dislike and despise).
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Then there is the phenomenon of musical synesthesia, in which particular notes are associated with visual impressions: Sacks reports that for the composer Michael Torke, say, D major is associated with the color blue, and G minor with ochre. It has been speculated that infants are natural synesthetes, their senses not yet properly differentiated, and that we lose this capacity as we mature (at least most of us do). It may even be that musical talent is more widespread than we realize, because the brain works actively to suppress it; when the inhibition is released, the natural ability is free to flow.
The human memory for music is generally excellent; people can remember songs from their childhood, for example, with striking accuracy. The case of Clive Wearing provides a dramatic illustration of the resilience of musical memory, since he suffers from extreme and debilitating amnesia, yet retains a remarkable amount of his old musical memories. He has little long-term memory in general but he also cannot acquire new memories from his passing experience, so that everything seems unfamiliar from second to second. It is a deeply disturbing predicament that Wearing is in, but at least he can still play and conduct music (he was an accomplished musicologist before the brain infection that destroyed his memory).
Wearing retains his musical "procedural memory," i.e., the kind that is manifested in practical skills, but he also retains his musical taste and appreciation. This suggests that musical memory is a distinct subsystem in the human brain, possibly widely distributed, and strongly resistant to degradation. Strange as Clive's case is, it reminds us of something we all know from our own experience: that musical memory has a power all its own. Moreover, musical memory connects with our sense of self, since musical taste and experience are closely linked to personality and emotion. The music we remember is, without exaggeration, part of who we are.
The music we remember is, without exaggeration, part of who we are. Agreed
The human memory for music is generally excellent; people can remember songs from their childhood, for example, with striking accuracy. The case of Clive Wearing provides a dramatic illustration of the resilience of musical memory, since he suffers from extreme and debilitating amnesia, yet retains a remarkable amount of his old musical memories. He has little long-term memory in general but he also cannot acquire new memories from his passing experience, so that everything seems unfamiliar from second to second. It is a deeply disturbing predicament that Wearing is in, but at least he can still play and conduct music (he was an accomplished musicologist before the brain infection that destroyed his memory).
Wearing retains his musical "procedural memory," i.e., the kind that is manifested in practical skills, but he also retains his musical taste and appreciation. This suggests that musical memory is a distinct subsystem in the human brain, possibly widely distributed, and strongly resistant to degradation. Strange as Clive's case is, it reminds us of something we all know from our own experience: that musical memory has a power all its own. Moreover, musical memory connects with our sense of self, since musical taste and experience are closely linked to personality and emotion. The music we remember is, without exaggeration, part of who we are.
