Notes on the transportive function of music

(As always, the text below is not to be taken as fully fleshed out, or likely to be completed.)

Some pieces of music- riffs, melodies, whole songs- perform one of music's most potent functions, which for lack of better words I'll term the transportive function. This term can be broken down into specific types of transport, since not all music serves the same purpose, but I'm going to focus on temporal transport, i.e., the removal of the listener from the present into the past or future. Further subclassification is possible: there are riffs and songs to remind one of their actual past, free of whitewashing or embellishment; music that filters the listener's past through the lens of nostalgia; music that evokes a mythological past that never happened at all; or, looking forward, music that launches the listener to a future that may never be, or provides a more earthbound sense of the possibilities down the road. I'm not going to concern myself with examining each of these responses to music- too exhausting- but stick to musing on the general transportive function.

The right piece of music can cause the listener can enter into a state of mind similar to, perhaps almost identical to, one they've been in before. There are a number of variables that go into determining whether a given song or riff will do the trick, all of them personal and therefore outside the scope of this piece; besides, anyone who's serious about music is usually aware of why certain songs affect them the way they do. Anyway, the music producing this result need not have been heard previously; indeed, one of the most fascinating things about the transportive function is that it doesn't require familiarity, instead working as a sort of instantaneous, hands-free time machine. I can't say for sure if the first time one hears a piece of music is the most powerful in terms of the transportive function, but I lean toward a negative answer, based on personal experience and because engrossing oneself in a piece of music allows a listener to hear more deeply, which can make the transportive function either more effective or cause it to function differently. It should also be noted that specificity, in regard to precisely when in time a piece of music moves the listener, can be a non-issue. I'd hazard to guess that most people's experiences with the transportive function can be described more along the lines of "this takes me back to the fall of '04" or "that song is, like, what I imagine music will be like twenty years from now" than "January 12th, 1989, in my brother's room." Whether the music takes one to a vaguely or clearly-defined time isn't that important, although that could be argued.

One thing I'm unsure of, probably because it just occurred to me and I'm too impatient to stop and think about it, is whether the transportive function is completely involuntary or not. I don't think it is, because one can react to a song one way for X amount of time only to react differently later- e.g., one associates a song with a good (or bad) time in their life, only to reevaluate their feelings later and find that they loathe/love the song now. That said, people don't often actively change their response to music, for whatever reasons or lack thereof, and I suspect the transportive function has something to do with this. People like associating a song with a specific time and/or place, whether or not thinking about why that is would, in the long run, allow them to get more from the music. I'm as guilty of this as the next guy, and I'm not blaming anyone for anything.

That's all I've got for the time being. If I think of anything else to add, I'll try to remember to do so, but I'm already planning my next entry. It should be up within the week, if all goes well.

Zaijian!

-DAS

P.S. The song that got me thinking about the transportive function in the first place, and that has been listened to numerous times since I started writing this entry, is "Ghosts of Grace" by Nachtmystium. Where does it take me? I'm still trying to nail that down.

Run ragged.

Things I've done in the past couple weeks: started my new job at the skatepark, moved closer to finishing this semester's Chinese class, and absorbed a great amount of new music. What I haven't done: meditate. For the past eight or nine months I've been pretty strict about getting in 30 minutes to an hour a day on the ol' meditation cushion. It's been a useful habit, and when I miss more than the occasional session I notice a distinct difference in the way I perceive and react to things. It sucks.

My failure in the past week to meditate each day has been taking a toll on me. I don't think of myself as being particularly susceptible to stress, but just because I believe (or don't believe) something doesn't make it true; the confluence of recent events seems to be wearing me out, moreso mentally than physically- though that's a factor too, given that I'm standing around in the heat all day for a living now. On top of my non-diminishing to-do list, I've been listening to lots of new music, much of which is intricate, heavily textured, raw, and/or laden with textual and philosophical meaning. It's a lot to digest, and I've only begun cramming my mouth full and trying to chew. Alongside that comes a fair amount of reading about said music, via metal 'zines like Oaken Throne and Convivial Hermit, which expands the range of my thinking about what I've been hearing. Summa summarum, I've been overloading my mind and underutilizing the decompression tool of meditation, and it's no good. Interesting, maybe, but mostly exhausting.

This isn't a complaint, by the way, but rather an analysis. I'm aware of what's wrong and how to alleviate it, something I don't know that I could have done even a few years ago.

Good night.