Entrainment in therapeutic music
Music truly does transcend the human voice. My mother is in a nursing home. She has terminal cancer and dementia. Sometimes she knows who I am and sometimes not. No matter — I know who she is, and that is all that matters.
I have played music all my life: violin, guitar, and now the harp. Mom has always enjoyed listening to me play and sharing with her my newly learned songs. So when I visit, I often bring one of my harps along. Today she had a bit of a chest cold and was feeling more under the weather than usual, with sniffing, coughing, and trouble breathing.
I sat by her bed and started to play old hymns and new songs — anything that would entertain her, since conversation is no longer possible with her dementia. But I am a clinical musician, and gradually my fingers fell into a pattern of rhythm and sounds that would help her relax and breathe easier. I played old tunes, even children's melodies, and slowed my rhythm. Slowly but steadily she stopped coughing, closed her eyes, and her breathing began to keep time with my music. I continued playing until I was sure she was asleep, then slipped out of her room.
One of the most valuable tools I use as a clinical musician is called entrainment. Look it up, and you will find this definition:
"A physics phenomenon of resonance, first observed in the 17th century, has an effect on all of us. Entrainment is defined as the tendency for two oscillating bodies to lock into phase so that they vibrate in harmony."
What does that mean? There is an example discovered back in 1665 that explains entrainment.
A Dutch scientist named Christian Huygens was working on pendulum clocks. He noticed that the pendulum would swing differently in each clock. But when they were placed together, eventually the pendulums would swing at the same rate, due to their influence on each other.
It works the same way with people and music. Have you ever noticed that listening to music can change your mood, make you sleepy, or get you on your feet dancing? That is entrainment.
In my practice, I play music — not necessarily a melody — with different rhythms to affect body rhythms such as heart rate, blood pressure, and breathing. Most heart rates fall between 60 and 80 beats per minute (BPM). So playing music within that range helps the patient's heart rate return to this preferred status. It is quite amazing to observe.
When I first did my clinical work during training, I was unsure what I would encounter while making rounds in the local hospital. I had not yet been invited to the ICU, so I was limited to the main patient floors. I was tested when a doctor saw me in the hallway and yelled for me. He grabbed me by the shoulders and whispered in my ear, "Go to room 31. My patient is dying."
I walked into the room and found an elderly woman flailing in bed. A nurse, with tears in her eyes, was holding her hand and stroking her head. The patient could not be left alone in that condition. I was only an intern. With wide eyes and a harp, I sat down and began to play, incorporating what my studies had taught me. The social worker who had walked in with me soon left. I continued playing. Within ten minutes, the elderly woman calmed down. Her body relaxed, and she lay back on her pillow. The nurse who was holding her hand whispered that she would leave for a little while to take a break. After another ten minutes, the patient was quietly resting. I felt someone looking at me. I glanced away from my patient to find the nursing staff at the door, watching the "miracle" unfold in room 31. Once she was calm, I was called away to attend to another patient. It was then that I realized the power of sound, of healing, and of intent.
So do not underestimate the power of small acts of love and kindness. These small acts, performed by many people all over the world, have a powerful effect on the well-being of each of us. If you are having a bad day, try listening to a song and take a moment just for yourself. It will change your outlook, and in turn, it will help you change the outlook of others.