The Sound of Emotion
Ever since I was old enough to kick my little feet to the rhythm of my mother’s stereo, I have had this indestructible connection with sound.
We play music to relieve tension, to fill the empty space that would otherwise fall quiet. With a little easy-going melody, music can brighten everyone’s demeanor as they wait for the elevator to reach their floor.
I’ve always considered music to be a personified form of comfort. As if music is with you, in the flesh, understanding and celebrating every disturbed emotion protruding in your mind. She arouses your brain with a note, holds your hand through a heartbreak with a single phrase, and provides you the power needed to re-enter the twisted facade of our good world with a certain sound that makes you realize you're not alone.
In a world with an abundance of different cultures, ethnicities and backgrounds, music is the most beautiful form of communication we have. We all seem to understand it; it brings people together in celebration and mourning. It provokes every complicated emotion we as humans endure. From painful love to empty happiness, artists extrapolate their emotional perspectives through words and sounds, creating something beautiful from the imperfections and complexities of life.
She’s unfiltered and unapologetic in her lyrical symphony, singing in your ear every intrusive thought that you are valid for feeling.
Emotions are not as clean-cut as we were conditioned to believe. When we’re happy, we’re not just happy, and when we’re sad, we’re not just sad. It’s much more complex than that. The older I get, the more relevance I’ve found in that statement.
The contradiction of love and hate, for example, reflects the idea that there is only a thin barrier separating the two. One cannot exist without the other, leading us to wonder what it means when the two are met in the middle, invading our emotional stability like the black plague.
We’re taught that such contradicting emotions within ourselves are unhealthy, leading to toxic connections in our lives, but couldn’t it be argued that it only heightens the thrill of it all?
Tyler, The Creator is an artist that truly embodies such frowned upon human notions in his music. His lyrics emulate complicated love, seemingly shameful sexual tendencies and the overall imperfections of humankind. My favorite song of his, “IFHY,” gives his perspective on a particular relationship that toyed with his peace of mind. Both the sound and lyrics contradict each other. At times, the sound exudes happiness and love, while other verses appear more angry and hateful.
The beginning of the song is primarily dialogue, painting the picture of despair through Tyler’s words. The sound is still while the dialogue progresses, as if signaling the importance of his words. As the lyrics become more instinctive and dark, the sound seems to follow suit. The descent of chords is meant to reflect the perpetrator’s spiral into insanity, as he tries to make sense of his conflicting emotions.
“I fucking hate you, but I love you, I’m bad at keeping my emotions bubbled. You’re good at being perfect, we’re good at being troubled”
The convoluted aspects of human emotions in contrast with suffocating societal expectations can lead us to believe we’re crazy; like our emotions aren’t valid, as if millions of people around the world aren’t feeling the same overstimulating and confusing feelings as a constant fog in our minds.
On the contrary, while artists use the power of lyricism to provoke emotion, other artists can say so much with such little words.
I’ve found that psychedelic genres of music can provoke physical responses from the frequencies lying in its sound, as if the song itself is stuck to your tongue like LSD.
For years, people have been studying the correlation between heightened moods and sound, leading us to conclude that the human body responds positively to high frequencies in music. For some reason, when the guitarist hits that certain note during the climax of her solo, our bodies react. We tingle; we’re flushed with butterflies as the energy invades our ears and toys with our thoughts. Our eyes leak at the satisfaction from such beautiful sound, speaking to us in a completely different manner with not a single spoken word.
Magdalena Bay, a musical group I love, makes a fantastic example of the psychedelic genre. Their music utilizes high frequency sounds, tickling the brain in just the way it likes. It’s remarkable how artists can ignite emotional responses through only sound, furthering the idea that music is a reflection of human emotion more than anything else.
Frank Ocean is another artist who utilizes the power of sound engineering in arousing emotional responses to his music. Ocean’s 10 minute symphonic epic “Pyramids” beautifully orchestrates the power of sound. What I really love about Pyramids is its emotional diversity. Yes, it’s a great song to dance to, but the combination of mellotron choirs, funky bass and a swift transition in mood halfway through suggests its true intentions for its audience. The sound is meant to evoke multiple conflicting emotions from its listener. At certain parts, you’ll feel like dancing, while other parts will make you feel like crying.
Music is the most intimate, non-physical connection humans have.
It reminds us that every emotion we experience is simply human nature. With every skewed expectation we give each other to be perfect, music persists in embodying the perspective of real people. Music is an unfiltered artform that not only outlines, but celebrates the imperfections of human emotion. Your mind is at ease when she’s playing on your stereo, reminding you that the complexity of your emotions is not a burden, but rather makes life worth living.
