Do you ever wonder why tunes can sometimes get stuck in your head uninvited and seem impossible to shift? This weekend the earworm visited on me set off a cascade of connected thoughts – of only passing relevance to education, or partnerships, or science, but perhaps you’ll indulge me for the sake of some alluring music?
I came back from an international conference last week with some new contacts, memorable experiences and an earworm I’ve not been able to shift all week. It started with some in-flight noise-cancelling playlists and since then I’ve not been able to get Sting (feat. Mary J. Blige) out of my head.
The track in question is Whenever I Say Your Name (2004) and I’d ask you have a listen to the chorus (at about 1 min 30s):
because I think one of the reasons this one has embedded itself in my brain (nerdy music alert…) is its harmonic similarity to this simple but perfect miniature of Bach’s:
(one of his Little Preludes BWV 924, written by the great man for his eldest son, Wilhelm Friedmann Bach in 1720).
The chords progress in exactly the same way, with the same sequence of agonising suspensions (appealing to Sting’s tantric proclivities, no doubt); the two pieces are even in the same key.
Am I just making a connection here where none exists? Of course it’s part of the human condition to find patterns, whether in nature, music, words or people. But is the connection really there?
Some say this affliction (or gift?) of seeing patterns in everything is particularly visited on scientists or musicians. I count myself as a musical scientist, so maybe that’s it (this article gives a bit more nuance to the matter). I’ve been told innumerable times over the years how scientists are often musical. Or is that coincidence just another pattern we spot, ignoring the many instances when it’s not there. An invented connection? A case of pattern recognition bias, or apophenia, the condition of seeking patterns in randomness, which afflicts gamblers amongst others.
Back to Sting borrowing from Bach…
Human history has seen myriad examples of melodies, harmonies, words or ideas that have been borrowed, embellished and embroidered by others. Reworkings of Bach, the greatest of them all, often grate, but some are at least as good as the original. Take Bach’s epic Chaconne from his D minor Partita. Originally scored for virtuosic solo violin: https://open.spotify.com/track/2smIuabGSEbOS8xg43Ct0T?si=54960e96d06d440e
and later expanded by Busoni into this magnificent piano arrangement which I have attempted to hack through in late night fits of zeal: https://open.spotify.com/track/1vtEh63mYwdOfESPY9Rk2B?si=WkAmMRAaTsqsZoGiW2b_4g
Of course, repurposing is central to the art of teaching and all good teachers are magpies. But taking old material and creating something even better – that’s genius.
So, I forgive Sting. He may not have improved on Bach, but he has brought his simple but poignant harmonies to a new audience, 300 years later, with vocals and words that enhance. And I count myself fortunate to have bathed in the presence of both geniuses: breathing in the essence of Bach in Leipzig last summer and, perhaps more prosaically, visiting Sting’s Elizabethan manor 25 years ago as a young physics tutor for his daughter!
And the earworm? It reflects my state of mind, so I’m indulging it for now. Affection, not affliction.