Neural Nostalgia and Musical Connection - Billie Eilish deserves a pass
Billie Eilish, an 18-year-old singer who already has 34 music awards, recently made headlines because Jimmy Kimmel asked her to name the members of Van Halen, and she didn’t even know who Van Halen was.
The Internet had a grand ol’ time, as one might expect. How dare this punk kid disrespect rock royalty?!
I remember being that guy as a teen and young adult, a full-on music snob who scoffed at anyone listening to country, pop, hip hop, or electronic music – if it’s not four sweaty dudes banging out power chords, it’s not real music, amiright?
You’re telling me you don’t know “Baba O’Riley?!” It’s only one of the greatest songs ever written by the most legendary of bands. Do you live under a rock?!
I’m embarrassed by how I used to act in relation to my favorite music, movies, and television, but I also understand the instinct. Our artistic tastes are not only personal but deeply rooted in our childhood, associated with memories, nostalgia, stories, and experiences. There are even good psychological and physiological reasons for it – the music we hear during our teens activates our brain’s pleasure circuits, releasing dopamine, serotonin, and other powerful drugs into our system.
Psychologist Mark Joseph Stern writes,
“Between the ages of 12 and 22, our brains undergo rapid neurological development—and the music we love during that decade seems to get wired into our lobes for good. When we make neural connections to a song, we also create a strong memory trace that becomes laden with heightened emotion, thanks partly to a surfeit of pubertal growth hormones. These hormones tell our brains that everything is incredibly important—especially the songs that form the soundtrack to our teenage dreams…”
(“Neural Nostalgia,” Slate.com)
If you were a hormonal teenager in the late 70s and early 80s into rock music, you might think “Ain’t Talkin’ ‘Bout Love” is one of the most profound songs ever written. You know, the one written by poet David Lee Roth.
And there’s nothing wrong with that.
Art as Connection
In response to the backlash and Twitter-hate over Billie Eilish’s supposed failure to pay respect to the shoulders on which she stands, Wolfgang Van Halen – the son of Edward and current bass player for Van Halen – tweeted back:
“Music is supposed to bring us together, not divide us. Listen to what you want and don’t shame others for not knowing what you like.”
Right on, my man.
Billie is 18-years-old, born four months after the attacks on September 11th. She grew up listening to Green Day, Avril Lavigne, and Justin Bieber. Those were the artists who made up her youth, and will be forever associated with teenage dreams and concerns. And for the record, she’s still in that phase. It would be absolutely ridiculous to expect her to have the same emotional connection with classic rock bands as we do.
Art is incredibly subjective, and therein lies the beauty. There’s art for everyone and you’re not required to listen, watch, or experience anything that doesn’t move you.
But within that fact is a wonderful opportunity to connect.
Next time you’re having a conversation with someone who expresses a love of music, movies, or art that is very different from your own, try this:
“You know, I’ve always been a [your favorite] kind of person, and I’ve never really gotten into [their favorite]. What do you love about [their favorite]?”
If you’re talking about music, find out if it’s the lyrics, the instrumentation, the energy, or something else entirely that moves them. If it’s movies, is it the script, characters, pacing, tone, or theme? Then, if this is someone you care about, make an effort. Search out that favorite art of theirs on your own time, sit down and, without distractions, listen/watch/experience it with their preferences in mind.
You may not like it. In fact, you probably won’t. The goal of connection is not agreement, but understanding.
I See You
My stepfather Kevin used to drive me to high school every morning on my mom’s days. The school was in my father’s district and the bus didn’t come to my mom’s neighborhood, so Kevin had to take me 30 minutes out of his way at the crack of dawn just to come straight back and drive even further to get to work. I didn’t appreciate it at the time.
Most mornings we would drive in silence, or occasionally he’d have the radio on in the background.
One day I got a new CD from Sammy Hagar and the Waboritas and asked if we could put it on during the commute. I knew he didn’t want to, because he regularly scoffed at my music tastes, preferring Nora Jones, jazz, and big band to Van Halen. He reluctantly agreed, and I enjoyed the album quietly in the background (not the ideal way to listen to hard rock) then went to school, and to my dad’s for a couple days.
A few days later, back at my mom’s, I hopped in the car at 6:00am with Kevin on a frigid winter morning in Buffalo, NY. To my surprise he put on my Sammy Hagar album, which I’d accidentally left behind.
“I turned the car on the other day and forgot you had your CD in here, so I decided to let it play,” he said. “You know, Sammy’s got great lyrics in some of these songs. Which track is your favorite? Put it on.”
I was in shock.
We listened to Sammy Hagar rock out for the next 30-minutes, chatting about various lyrics, guitar bits, and the energy of the album.
It never happened again, and our relationship mostly maintained its shaky status quo. But for a brief window, Kevin saw me.
And I’ll always be grateful for that.
