Remembering the music that makes memories

In the weekend where we remember the 20th anniversary of the tragic events of 9/11, I want to introduce you to the Nigerian word for remembrance ‘ncheta’ (pronounced ‘cheta’). Why, you might be asking yourself? Well hopefully all will become clear shortly, but first a short story about ‘sod’s law’. There is an old (1871) Lancashire proverb that says, ‘the bread never falls but on its buttered side’. It’s a well-known example of ‘sod’s law’. Richard Bronson, an American professor emeritus of mathematics, is a leading expert on ‘sod’s law’. He tells a lovely story about a man who once dropped his bread and it landed buttered side up, thus defying the universal law noted above. Apparently, the man was so astounded he rushed to his rabbi to ask for an explanation. At first the rabbi didn’t believe him, but was eventually convinced that it must have happened. However, he didn’t feel qualified to answer, so he passed the question on to one of the world’s greatest Talmudic scholars. After months of waiting for an answer, the scholar finally replied: ‘the bread must have been buttered on the wrong side’.  

Bronson also offers a slightly different interpretation of ‘sod’s law’ – ‘the degree of failure is in direct proportion to the effort expended and to the need for success’. It’s something J and I came face-to-face with last weekend. We had spent many months carefully crafting two playlists for our #Wedstock21 wedding celebrations. One was to be played as we ate our meal, the other to be played as we danced. It was a labour of love. We were so proud of our choices, and had even woven into the dance playlist, requests from our guests. As so often happens, pride comes before a fall.

The large room was beautifully laid out and decorated, the sun shone, and our guests were mellow from drinking lots of bubbles. We sat down to our meal, and pressed play to start the music. The conversation from our 75 guests drowned out the music. We turned the music up, but then it was too loud for conversation. It was turned down again, and we spent the following three hours just occasionally hearing a snippet of the music being played. It was ‘sod’s law’. There wasn’t anything we could do about it. We hoped for better things with the dance music, and indeed a few guests did dance. The music was great but many were content to tap their feet or watch the younger guests do the dancing.  Again ‘sod’s law’ prevailed. All those months of carefully selecting, reviewing, changing arguing over what stays in or taken out was in vain, although we do have two great playlists for driving too now. Whilst the music was important to us, it clearly wasn’t to the same extent for others.

As I was thinking about the importance of people attach to music (or not), I recalled a piece I had read recently about the use of music therapy in Nigeria. I have only been to Nigeria once. I found it to be a very frightening place. I was there as a guest of the University of Lagos’ West African Student Nurse Association, and to present a paper on Nurse Leadership. I was made to feel very welcome by the students, almost overwhelmingly so, and likewise my academic colleagues also extended a very warm welcome too. On the tour of the School of Nursing I noticed that the library had very few books. For many months afterwards I shipped boxes of textbooks donated by my university colleagues back in England, and only stopped when the shipping costs became prohibitive. I have never been back, but do keep in touch with some of the students I met on the trip. One even completed his PhD.

But I digress. I think it was memories of my visit to Nigeria that made the article about the use of music in mental health care stand out. I have been to several countries in Africa, and mental health care is often very basic compared to the familiar models of mental health services in the UK. It is particularly the case in sub-Saharan Africa. That’s a sobering thought when, often in different parts of the UK, mental health care is still very much a ‘Cinderella’ service, under resourced and understaffed. So, it was great to read a positive story about one mental health service in Nigeria that was using music as a way to engage therapeutically with patients.  

In a city called Ibadan, about 130 kms north from Lagos, staff at the psychiatric unit of The University College Hospital have started to use music as part of their therapeutic approaches. The project is led by a lady called Bola Otegbayo who has degrees in both physics and music. She uses music in group sessions as well as with individual patients. What resonated with me was her acknowledgment of the need to ensure the right piece of music is used when choosing to use recorded music in the sessions. There is much research to show that music can be stimulative or restorative, but in some situations, music can also be the source of despair. 

However, central to her work is the opportunity to establish and develop a therapeutic relationship through the co-production of live music. Such an approach has been shown to be helpful to folk whose lives have been impacted by injury, illness or disability, particularly those who might also have communication difficulties. Music has also been found to be helpful in people living with dementia. It can often trigger an act of remembrance, catching a glimpse of a life that was perhaps experienced differently.

Yesterday I saw a Twitter posting of how music was being used in a setting closer to home. It showed the work of Iris, a therapist who works in the Manchester critical care service. One of her patients called John had been on the unit for 100 days and Iris had developed a therapy plan for the week which included live music, which she played herself. He found the music beautiful and relaxing. You can hear the music for yourself here – but if the link doesn’t work for you, I think it will be another case of ‘sod’s law’. I wish John all the very best and hope his recovery continues well. I don’t Iris, but I think after all the NHS has been through over the last two years, she epitomises the best of the best.

 

Ps – when I looked up the distance between Ibadan and Lagos, my computer defaulted to showing the distance between Ibadan and Blackpool where I live. Its 4494 miles and would take me 97 hours via the Trans-Saharan Highway. But ‘sod’s law’ being what it is, I would probably get a puncture before I got onto the M6!