Music Gives Life – On Dementia, Music And Its Powers In Society

A typical afternoon, at a medium-sized Norwegian care and treatment center. I go to work as a music therapist, in a specialized ward for people with dementia.

I have brought my electric piano in a specially designed trolley, and the residents gather in the lounge area.

Here is Johnny, 60 years old, with Downs syndrome. He wants to sing «Nei, så tjukk du har blitt» («Oh, how fat you've become») with great enthusiasm and self-irony. We have our own Dancing Queen, Randi, who wants ABBA hits and demands greater precision in the piano accompaniment than I can deliver.

And we have Danish Lise. Lise doesn't say much, she mostly looks down. But I have been in music sessions with Lise before, and I know that if I give her time, if I let her be with us in the music for a while, it will come.

A few songs in, I look at Lise: – Is there something you would like to sing today, Lise?

And Lise starts humming «Svantes lykkelige dag» («Svante's Happy Day»). And I know from before that this melody by Benny Andersen is Lise's song.

And when we have finished singing «Svantes lykkelige dag», Lise sits up straighter, her gaze is more open, and she sings with a clear voice through the rest of our session.

The staff tells me about a Lise who, outside of the music sessions, withdraws from people, appears downcast, and doesn't want to wash or eat. Her children see their mother withering in front of them.

But in the music! I invite Lise's children to join our music session, and what we experience that day changes the time Lise and her children get together, until Lise passes away.

The music, the songs they have shared through their joint lives, become the thing that they gather around.

Music gives life, music changes lives.

One of the five intentions in NMH's new strategy reads: «We highlight the role and power of music in society».

One of the sub-points of this intention is: Music gives life, music changes life, and music saves life.

These are truly powerful words. Should we read them literally?

The words come from a speech made by Karette Stensæth, professor and head of the research center CREMAH, during World Mental Health Day on October 10 last year.

We know from our own experiences with music – personally, with fellow musicians and colleagues, with students and clients, with audiences, and through the media – that music does all of this.

It gives life, changes life, and in some cases, it also saves life.

A quick search shows that the internet is overflowing with quotes like «if it weren't for music, I wouldn't be here today».

For some, this is dead serious. Music has provided the strength they need to endure life a little longer.

Or, musical encounters and relationships have given life just enough meaning to turn the worst of the worst around.

And many of us can probably find examples of musical experiences that have been life-giving in moments when we needed it the most; triggering changes in life, and giving the feeling «if it weren't for music right now...». More or less literally.

«There are over a hundred of them in Norway, and the idea comes from a very popular TV series on the national broadcaster,» wrote the culture editor of Morgenbladet, Bernard Ellefsen (Norwegian), in November last year.

He further wrote:

«Yet, it was only last week that I got to see a so-called dementia choir in action – in a packed Fredrikstad Cathedral. And it was an incredible experience. A large, vibrant, and grey-haired choir gave full depth to life with lyrics like 'people like us, we need a lover, and I thought that lover should be you' (by Henning Kvitnes) and 'we shall fight for life, as long as there is blood running through us' (by Jan Eggum). After an hour and a half, and a performance of ABBA's 'Thank You for the Music,' which it was impossible not to take literally, one was left shaken with a rather simple conclusion: Dementia choirs are a fantastic thing.»

Ellefsen has been to a concert, and he has experienced the power of music.

Perhaps The Dementia Choir on TV, which gained greater popularity than any of us involved could have dreamed of, became so popular because it made this power visible to the general public, and highlighted the role that music can have in society.

It wasn't just about a choir, but about a choir for people with dementia. And such an intimate look into the musical experiences they shared did something to most everyone who watched the programme, just as the trip to Fredrikstad Cathedral in November clearly did something to Bernard Ellefsen.

I believe that the focus on dementia not only contributed to the visibility and destigmatization of a condition that affects, and will affect, more and more of us. It also served as a sort of magnifying glass on music and its power.

We recognize ourselves. And how music helps giving, changing, and saving our lives, when we hear Oddmund singing «Can’t Help Falling in Love» together with the Dementia Choir. Regardless if our own musical expression might be entirely different from that of the Dementia Choir.

The perhaps most obvious proof of music's power to change lives is found in the music therapy room:

The prematurely born infant in neonatal intensive care, whose breathing gradually gets more stable as they lie on their father's chest, while he quietly hums a Metallica ballad.

The child with multiple disabilities who enjoys the feeling of vibrations from the deepest drum, expressing a squealing delight over the sound they make with their hand on the chimes, accompanied by the music therapist.

The teenager with a background in child welfare and psychiatry services, who plays in a band and finally finds the self-worth they have sought all their life, when they get to go on stage with a guitar.

This is not instrumentalism, music does not necessarily work in a specific way. Its value, role, and power can't be defined based on what effect it has in combating world miseries.

And music has powers beyond the obviously positive: music can also relate to the painful aspects of life and create distance between people, altering life for the worse.

This is precisely what I found in my doctoral research: while sharing musical experiences mainly contributed to increased closeness and positive feelings for couples living with dementia, music could also bring forth some of the most difficult and complicated aspects of their relationship.

Music's complex power necessitates the development of knowledge, discussions and traditions that thrive at the Norwegian Academy of Music, helping performers, educators, and therapists become some of the best professionals and craftsmen in the world.

Performers, educators, and therapists who are also conscious about social matters. Who reflects, ethically and critically, on how music's aesthetics and power interact and relate to each other and their role in this interplay.

I have a friend whom I spend time with each week, at an open community programme for music-loving seniors.

Torbjørn is a local music hero in his early 80s, a former pianist in countless bands and orchestras, and a highly respected choir conductor. A true music lover and a valuable resource. But in Musikkollektivet, he comes just to play, listen to, and experience music with others, without taking responsibility or being in the spotlight.

Torbjørn's wife has been living in a nursing home with dementia for a few years. And Torbjørn told me that when he started coming to Musikkollektivet he felt, for the first time in a long while, that he could just be himself and focus on experiences that made him feel good.

A few weeks before Christmas, Torbjørn's wife passed away on a Wednesday evening. And Thursday morning, Torbjørn was with us at Musikkollektivet.

Not until we were about to wrap up for the day did he tell us what had happened the night before, concluding:

– I couldn't be anywhere else today. I needed the music.