Music Is My Therapy
I'm writing this on the eve of tracking guitars for my band's debut album; something of a pivotal moment not just for us as a band, but also in my life with music. A project that began as a pipe dream, then evolved to a solo EP (with the intention to work with session musicians), then became one of the finest things that someone who has music hard wired into the very core of their being can experience; playing music that they love, with people that they love. A band.
I’m sure we’ve all heard someone say “music saved my life” at some point, and whilst it might sound like something of a cliché it is actually true. Music has several positive effects on our mental wellbeing; helping to alleviate stress, enhance memory, stimulate emotion and soothe the soul.
Music therapy is a recognised, widely utilised medical practice that uses everything from listening (occasionally with visual stimuli too) all the way through to composition, improvisation and performance. A musical instrument is a common recommendation for children with ADHD as it encourages concentration and focus. Fascinatingly, numerous scientific studies into the effects of music on the brain have proven that it can even help with physical healing, as well as psychologically, after experiencing trauma.
Speaking personally, my relationship with music has been a lengthy, sometimes complicated affair. From my formative years, hearing Fleetwood Mac, Roxy Music, and Status Quo in my parents cars, to hearing The Offspring and Foo Fighters for the first time, music has defined, transformed, and healed me, more times than I care to admit.
I heard 'Learn to Fly' and loved it, but it was 'Monkey Wrench' that really captivated me. It was the sound of barely controlled rage, distilled via a set of sweetly sarcastic melodies and furious, intricately woven guitar. It was a potent combination. It caught me by the scruff of my neck and shoved my nose towards all manner of other musical treats, and with the added help of various early PlayStation games and late night music channels (anyone remember P Rock, or Scuzz?), I greedily devoured new music like some sort of overstimulated puppy.
Around the same time, and thanks to a combination of standard issue teenage angst and insecurity, the onset of depression which has characterised most of my adult life, and my father being diagnosed with terminal cancer, news which I'm sure everyone reading this can appreciate absolutely floored me, music became my escape. It became my release, my catharsis; a place I could go to in order to lose myself when the world became too much to cope with.
There have been occasions where I've felt so lost and so alone that playing guitar was the only time I could truly be my full self; the only way I could express myself honestly. For a time, the only way I could feel truly alive. When I later lived alone, I'd lose whole weekends between my guitar, my CD collection and books about music.
I suspect I am far from alone when I say this, but I will always associate certain moments in my life with certain songs. The eventual death of my father in 2004 with Green Day's 'Wake Me Up When September Ends' (granted, the subject matter is of course the death of Billie Joe Armstrong's father, so to say I could relate to it is an understatement), the entirety of Nine Inch Nails 'The Fragile' album with a particularly rough period mentally, and (to genre hop a little here) The Mighty Mighty Bosstones 'You Gotta Go!' with driving to work after managing to expunge a particularly toxic individual from my life, and my home at the time.
When I moved from the UK to Germany in 2017, my partner and I travelled light; there was no room for a guitar. Amid transplanting our lives here and the myriad of associated stresses, I began to feel uneasy; I wasn't able to pick up and play my guitar, or to even put on a CD. These basic coping strategies had been my go to for so long, and to be without them was incredibly unnerving. Happily for my birthday the following year, between my partner and my Mum, I got a guitar. Playing it for the first time, I remember feeling the stresses of the last few months slip away. I will never, ever forget that feeling.
Making music is, even to this day, how I manage to articulate and embrace emotions, and to tell the stories that I would otherwise struggle to process or to present in any other way. Music helps me make sense of the world; and I hope that my music, and our music will help someone in the same way as music has helped me. Even if I manage merely to put a smile on someone's face, I've achieved something valuable.
Written by Chris Hughes
Chris, a self styled 'average guitarist extraordinare' is a content manager originally from the UK but now living in Hamburg, Germany. He is a proud European, and loves (in no particular order) music, raking through the dusty shelves of hidden record shops, red wine, cheese, his Gibson SG, and a small stuffed Highland Cow called Mr. Moo.
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