Feb. 26, 2009
A synthesis of how music can be used a healing tool and means of alternative, creative therapy.
Music is the language that transcends borders. It is common to all, and understood by all. But music has the ability to surpass more than just cultural or geographic divides. Rather, the melodies and harmonies are able to transcend the mind, the body and the spirit, and connect them in a key signature of safety. This overlooked aspect is the basis of practice for the number of music therapists around the world, and it is a belief in which I, have come to understand and trust ever since my experience of its theories in various exercises and applications. In truth, after careful synthesis, I found that music is a universal gatekeeper, opening the doors to the self, to others, and to the collective spirit of song.
“Finding one’s voice is often used as a metaphor for finding one’s self,” describes esteemed music therapist Diane Austin, “[for] it facilitates the process of speaking one’s truth and claiming one’s unique identity” (Austin 5). Never before had I encountered this idea of trying to ‘find voice’. As a singer, the voice had always come across to me as concretely inherent, either you had it or you didn’t; you could either sing or you couldn’t. But after further reading into the views of Austin, I found that my precognitions were in fact invalid and uninformed. After all, as Austin goes onto to note, “breath [with respect to the voice] is the life force that connects the mind, body and spirit…and [can] dramatically affect the quality of both the speaking and singing voice” (5). It is this same breath, which I had been heavily stressing in my voice lessons for years, that suddenly dawned upon me as the connective basis for all humans. Everyone can breathe, and so it is only logical that everyone has a voice, and a song to sing. It does not matter if it is pleasing to the ear, or soothing to the soul, all that matters is that it is expressed. And this is a view music therapists have known for years. Conclusively, it is in the (re) discovery of one’s ‘lost voice’ that the self is found, for with deep breaths, a reconnection with “one’s unique identity” is created and allows for one’s internal melodies to channel through (5).
Although I still held a working definition of breath and the voice, trying to synchronize it with a more therapeutic view, an application of toning and natural sounds, finally reinvented the terms for me. It occurred following a discussion regarding a music therapy session with a young boy Adnan, prompted by music therapist Brian Harris. Adnan was a second-generation war victim of the struggle in Bosnia and Herzegovina, and was suffering from speech developmental delays, social/attachment issues, as well as severe trauma. The poor boy faced many difficulties, and still he was only five. But, according to music therapist Michele Forinash, “the curative power of music [has always been used] to aid those suffering from a variety of maladies,” (Malchiodi 46). Thus, music therapy was the path of healing best for him. As Harris presented his tapes of Adnan’s therapy sessions, the affect of the therapy was clear. In the mirroring of melodies, and Harris’s counterbalancing of Adnan’s low, heavy tones, with lighter higher pitches, one could see that music was definitely affecting the boy’s thought processes. He was actively and consciously making decisions and creating a healthier relationship with Harris in the common language of music, in what therapists would describe as “‘a continuum of awareness’,” a ‘holding environment,’ and “musical reflection,” which Austin states, “provides encouragement and validation” (Malchiodi 52; Austin 18). In other words, it appeared as if Adnan, in interacting with the piano and Harris, in expressing himself through the song, was finding his unspoken and buried “voice” (Austin 5). This discovery acting as a metaphoric breathe of life into his traumatic and paralyzed world.
Following Harris’ presentation, it was clear that, in the therapeutic sense of the terms, the music was the container for all the burdens locked up in Adnan, the sufferer being contained. The music was the life force giving him the support to find himself and pound out the heavy pitches in his soul. The only difference between Harris’ approach and the theory discussed by Austin, was that the former was entirely based on expression through instrumentation, while the latter is founded upon discovery through the vocal chords. It is in this distinction that my professor set up an application of Austin’s technique, following up on the Adnan’s existing context. First, my classmates and I were required to lie on the floor, eyes closed, and were instructed to inhale and exhale, envisioning the traumatic circumstances bombarding Adnan everyday. It was each breath of this warm-up that not only did I connect to myself, but I also became “grounded” to the bodies of my peers, as well as gained the “permission to feel” (Austin 5, 4). I was able to “feel” Adnan’s pain, “able to tap into emotions evoked by the deep breathing necessary,” characteristic to vocal therapy.
And so we began. We started by the trusting, safe hisses that familiarized everyone to the concept, but in time, with the ego silenced, we were able to give voice to our view on Adnan’s tale. It was therapeutic interpretation of the therapist regarding the client, in its purest form. And although it was simple in theory, trying to find the sounds to express the emotions stored in the moment was surprisingly difficult. It was just as much about feeling as it was about listening and about vocalizing. I at times became frustrated in my inability to express the emotions stored in my conscious. We were, as Austin would characterize it, translating and mirroring, in a way, Adnan’s story through toning, natural sounds, and spontaneous improvisation. These techniques, described as “instinctive expressions of what we are experiencing at any given moment,” are important in the restoration of holistic “balance,” which makes it “safer…to take risks vocally and emotionally” (Austin 8, 10, 9). Although the ‘safety’ was slow to come, I definitely felt the collective unconscious that was manifested in our song. As we toned and hummed, bleated and drummed, I was able to, as music therapists themselves experience in any given session, “ ‘feel’ [Adnan’s] voice inside of me,” (Austin 11). The chanting and vocalizing allowed me to cross over that “bridge over which parts of the self normally not heard from can cross over into consciousness…ultimately integrated into one’s self concept” (Austin 11-12). In deed, I did feel self-actualized and more complete in the end of the practice, as our tones resonated in my soul. I felt like I, as a member of the choir of Adnan’s legacy, was able to impact on the collective piece: my individual voice mattered. As such I felt the benefits of music therapy, I lived in the role of the client. And although I at first felt so overwhelmed by the emotions contained, I felt like, as a therapist, the progression of the sounds spoke to the boy’s case. Our pitches and sputtering were small containers for the powerful and deep pains contained in his conscious. It was thus, that music transcends the individual, and goes beyond me or my peers and our emotions in the now. Rather, it is an interpersonal relationship, fostered by the holding environment of a sound, a melody, a breath, a pitch, which can emit the greater feelings and repressed emotions of the unconscious. In truth, I believe that the vocalizing exercise helped us echo a trace of the melody in Adnan’s head, and that was, as my peer so beautifully stated, ‘the best thing we could do for him.’ After all, as music therapists practice, before we are theoretically able to help move on from his trauma, we must first subconsciously understand him, in his situation. And this is most easily done through expression via the common language of music. Consequently, our practice only makes definite sense: we connected our minds and bodies to the spirit, both our own, each other’s, and Adnan’s, creating a musical catharsis, resulting in the recovery of the “lost voices” from within.
In conclusion, although other practices, such as creating a personal song to express ourselves, and other tapes of music therapy sessions, proved beneficial in my overall understanding of the this creative therapy process, I found that they only enhanced and refined my view. Perhaps it is because I am a singer by nature, but it was, in fact, the theories of vocal therapy which defined it. Adnan’s transcendental experience, both in the therapy session and in the classroom setting, proved a true turning point in my perspective of the power of music. We were in unison, in harmony with his feelings when we vocalized, not to mention us being separated by miles, age, and time. This I found remarkable, and it still impresses me. Music clearly unified us, reconnected myself to me, to my peers, to him, and to the collective experience, in a powerful way I had never felt before. Music must thus be so much more than a safe signature of the mind, body, spirit triad: it is an opus which transcends time and space, reconnecting emotions to feelings lost or repressed, in a language which really is common and sung in all.
Works Cited
Austin, Diane. “Vocal Psychotherapy.” Best Practice in Music Therapy with Adolescents and Adults. Barbara Crowe (Ed.): American Association for Music Therapy, 2005.
Forinash, Michele. “Dance/Movement Therapy.” Expressive Therapies. Ed. Cathy A. Malchiodi. New York: The Guildford Press, 2005.
—-Yasmin Ogale, Feb. 2009
