When I listen to Joe Satriani’s song “Not of This Earth,” I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff. It’s one of many songs that are so thrilling, I can’t listen to them while doing anything else. While you probably won’t have the same reaction to this song, the feeling of excitement and pleasure that comes from music is what piqued my interest in I Heard There Was a Secret Chord: Music as Medicine, by Daniel J. Levitin.

This book describes how the brain processes music and examines its therapeutic effects. In chapter 5, Levitin discusses how attention works in the brain, and how we switch between external focus and internal self-reflection. But his description of the “flow state,” or experiential fusion, made me think of that Satriani song.

What is a “visceral reaction” to music?

The “flow state” is a special mental state often attributed to professional performers. Flow is defined by complete focus on a given task, with a lack of conscious control over one’s actions and the feeling of great ease. In other words, the flow state means being “in the zone,” totally absorbed in a task. This state of mind is not exclusive to musical performers; anyone skilled in some task can enter it.

I enjoyed learning about the neurological aspects of this. We have a “daydreaming” mode in our brains, called the default mode network (DMN). When the DMN is active, our thoughts wander inward. It’s an essential mode of the human brain that enables us to construct a cohesive internal narrative of personal experiences. People with damage to parts of the brain that participate in the DMN may be unable to turn attention inward. They become permanently focused on the external environment, meaning that they can’t generate new memories and they often lose much of their autobiographical memory.

One interesting thing about the DMN is how it switches on and off. A central brain region called the insula acts as an electrical switch between the DMN and a focused state. These states are typically mutually exclusive, but when the brain enters the flow state, it experiences decreased activity in the insula (p. 82), leading to a sort of hybrid state.

Flow state in musicians

So what happens to musicians when they enter the flow state during a performance? In the brain, there’s decreased activity in the problem-solving and self-consciousness areas, the dorsolateral prefrontal cortex (DLPFC) and the precuneus. (Spell-check is really suspicious of this article.) This means that the performer becomes less aware of their own actions in the moment.

At the same time, the brain has increased activity in the part that accesses autobiographical memories, the medial prefrontal cortex (MPFC). That’s interesting because it means that at the neurological level, a flow-state performance is a sort of deep self-expression. It’s like the brain is saying “this is who I am” in musical terms.

Lastly, the area of the brain that connects meaning to sound and movement also becomes more active. This area, called Wernicke’s area, is the part of the brain that lights up when we use language. Case studies have demonstrated that damage to this part of the brain can cause disorders such as fluent aphasia, which is the loss of the ability to comprehend language while still being able to produce it, albeit only nonsensically.

Flow state in music listeners

Listeners can also enter the flow state. It’s an incredible experience:

A peak musical state for the listener is to experience the chills—goosebumps—a unique and powerful part of flow’s shift of time and space, when the music is taking you over, when time seems to stand still, and you experience an almost overwhelming burst of intense pleasure, a sense of awe, sometimes leading to laughter or tears. (p. 90)

I’ve felt this way many times when listening to music, ever since I was a kid. Sometimes, even thinking of a song can make me want to shout with joy. It depends on the context. But personally, I think this feeling is closely tied to my musical education. I started learning guitar and trombone in sixth grade, and I continued to play them and perform in groups until the end of undergrad. Those many years of playing experience gave me a unique perspective on music.

Playing with others deepens one’s appreciation of music. It’s a special feeling to participate in the musical conversation of rhythm and melody on stage in an orchestra. One of my favorite wind band pieces, Holst’s First Suite in E-flat, is my favorite in large part because I played it in my college’s wind band. It’s a great piece of music, but I wouldn’t have encountered it outside that context.

Guitar music is closest to my heart. I’ve been learning Eric Johnson’s “Cliffs of Dover” off and on for years. Though I’ve never quite gotten it up to his tempo, I still get goosebumps every time I listen to it or play it. It happens with a lot of other music, too, from pop singers like Sia or Adele to Dvorak’s New World Symphony.

When I was younger, David Bowie songs absorbed all my attention—to the point that I almost crashed my car in traffic during “Five Years.” I didn’t listen to music while driving for a long while after that.

One thing that surprised me was that some people close to me told me they’ve never felt this way when listening to a song. While I know that not everyone has as close a relationship to music as I do, I find it hard to imagine not feeling this way.

Reading this book has made me realize the huge contribution that music makes to our health and quality of life. If you haven’t learned a musical instrument before, I would definitely recommend trying it out. And if you can play that instrument with others, all the better. Develop your ear as best you can while you learn your instrument, so that your fingers know how to make the sounds you’re hearing. When you start learning to play an instrument, you’ll start hearing new things in familiar songs. Your appreciation for them—and for totally new ones—will deepen.

References and further reading