For the last two weeks I haven’t had much success with audiobooks because I haven’t been able to focus, so despite not being able to sing and dance at work, I’ve jumped around from playlist to playlist. One of my playlists is “slow country,” and as I shuffled through it, I pretty much relived my entire life - especially my teenage love life (to compensate for not being able to fully participate in the music, I tapped my toe and occasionally drummed my fingers on the work table).
When I was a teenager, I credited every song to be about (insert boy of choice). When I liked a boy, there was a song for that - written just for us. When a boy broke my heart, there was a song for that. And since I liked a lot of boys, there are a lot of songs that stir memories of (insert boys’ names here).
I also have a lot of distinct memories of being in specific places and hearing certain songs. I have memories of singing with my friends in the car, slow dancing with boys, performing with my dance team, and belting out solos in my bedroom.
It’s not just a “slow country” playlist that sparks my memories - I have always enjoyed a variety of music styles - but the slow country hit pretty hard. Not only were there songs I attributed to boys I liked, there were also several songs on my playlist that remind me of friends and loved ones who have died. There’s a country song that played on the radio one day when my friend Brian and I were out buying donuts for our French class. Brian passed away shortly after high school, and every time I hear that song, I think about him. Then there are some songs I listened to shortly after my brother died last year, songs that remind me of my grandparents, and a song that reminds me of my brother-in-law, Doug.
A few months ago I learned a new word: frisson. Frisson is an emotional reaction where you get goosebumps or chills or even get teary eyed as a response to music and other art forms. I was excited to have a word for it because it happens to me. I especially get chills during certain harmonies or key changes in music, and I have this response to dance as well, and -hear me out - I even get it on some amusement park rides (as I learned last year in Disney World when I kept crying on rides). I came across the word in social media one day, and the post said that only a certain percentage of the population experiences frisson. I did a little more googling and found different reports on how many people experience frisson - ranging from 50-80%. Regardless of what the actual number is, I was shocked that not everyone has that response to music. I was so curious about people who don’t experience frisson that I did a poll on Instagram just to see if any of my 32 friends are among the non-frissoners. Two of my friends said they do not experience frisson, and it was kind of surprising. Both of those friends have histories in musical theatre, and one of them is a very talented pianist (she’s the type who, when she accompanies in primary, doesn’t even open the songbook). Friend #1 said (as we messaged each other further about her lack of frisson) that she rarely listens to music, as to her, it’s unnecessary noise. She just doesn’t really like it. Friend #2, the pianist, claims her lack of frisson is due to her heart of stone. I was really shocked by Friend #2 because music is such a big part of her life (heart of stone or not), but then I thought… for people who are especially gifted musically, a lot of music probably sounds really awful to their ears, so it probably takes a really high level and quality music to stir them emotionally. Just a Theory by Britt.
Recently I experienced frisson while watching Daisy dance in a concert at the high school.
Daisy has grown immensely as a dancer this year, and Ive started to see her really feel the music. She has had the chance to choreograph and teach two dances to her company, and I cried the first time I saw her choreography on stage.
I know that music makes my girl experience things, so I’m always trying to sneak it into her life. She loves to listen to music, and she sings constantly (sometimes I just really want her to be quiet, but I always remind myself that the day might come when she stops singing, and that will be a tragedy). I made her participate in a church youth choir for Easter, and boy, was she mad at me. She went to practice every week and pouted. She never confessed that it was a good experience, but by the time they performed, I think she knew. Plus, they sang one of her favorite songs (but anytime I call it “one of her favorite songs,” she argues and says it’s not, but it is. Mama knows).
A couple of months ago, Scotty and I went downtown to hear the Tabernacle Choir rehearse in the tabernacle on a Thursday night (the rehearsals are open, if you ever want to go. I recommend it! You don’t have to stay for the whole thing. You can pop in for as long as you want). I realized that I hadn’t heard the Choir sing live since before COVID. It was amazing, and you can’t beat the sound of the tabernacle. As the youths these days say, it just hits different. I got many a chill!
Here’s the thing with me and frisson, though. I don’t want to get caught with it. I don’t want anyone seeing me get goosebumps or tears in my eyes. So when it happens in mixed company, I’m like, “Oh no! I’m feeling stuff. Fight it! Be strong!” But when I’m by myself, I just let it happen, and I feel all the things that come at me, and I might sing to dance or cry for a moment. In public it feels like I got caught peeing a little.
So… are you among the 50-80% who get frisson?
1 comment:
It's why I go to musicals. It's where I feel it the most. Blake doesn't have this even though he is the more musical one between us (he truly does have a heart of stone).
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