by Corey Matsumoto

Ever thought about what music is? What makes up a song?

Scientists long ago discovered the basic mechanics of sound waves—how sound can be created, shaped, captured, released, and heard. Almost every living thing on earth makes an audible sound of some sort. If you subscribe to Gaia Theory, the earth itself is a single living entity producing an orchestra of sounds.

However, there’s a certain je ne sais quoi about music that puts it in a separate category of sound from other natural and artificial sounds that flood our aural environment. Songs are physical manifestations of our emotions—truly living entities capable of transcending time and space (wirelessly, even). Music is basically physical vibration (sound waves) created by expressing a thought or blend of thoughts through one or more instruments.

Although a song can be technically quite simple when broken down into its elements (bass, rhythm, beat, tempo, etc.), few people truly appreciate how a song comes into being. Indeed, when a band gets together to jam or create a song, there’s a lot more going on than even they may realize.

It may be observed that musicians and artists who are passionate about their work are supersensitive to emotions and interpersonal dynamics. Music and art become an outlet for personal expression and even help the artist process life’s difficulties. A musician playing “in the zone” is literally “flying high”—carried on an emotional wave by the instrumentation. When a group of musicians play “in the zone” together, the results can be pure ecstasy. There’s nothing quite like hearing a group of people playing from the heart while tuning into each other so intensely as to complement one another’s parts in perfect synchronicity. The resulting music becomes an entity unto itself—often only living for the moment (Dude, did we record that?).

Looking at song-crafting in this light, you start to see strange parallels between the dynamic workings of a band and those of a romantic relationship. Any musician who has played in (and especially toured with) a band for any extended period of time would be hard-pressed to deny that such parallels exist. The chemistry required to keep a band together is directly related to the chemistry required to create a marriage working between two people, the only difference being that a band requires several people with the right mix of chemistry between them to allow the relationship to bear fruit. When the mix is right, magic happens, and great songs are conceived.

The similarities between musical and romantic relationships extend to break-ups. If you think making a marriage work between two people is hard, try mixing three or more supersensitive musician types—and throw in the “ego factor” for good measure. The experience of a having a band member leave the group for another band (or even worse, for a solo project) can lead to feelings of rejection not unlike those felt when dumped by a mate. When these musical marriages fail, the results can be messy: witness the sensational band break-ups and “custody battles” over song rights, of which we are so often elegantly informed by the tabloid press.

When the chemistry is right, however, the union of a group of musicians can indeed be stronger than that of a romantic relationship. It’s not unheard of for a musician to choose the band over a lover when forced to pick—the allure of the stage can be overpowering. It’s the one place where you can stand emotionally naked before the world, performing from the heart in pursuit of that elusive “zone” where nothing matters but the feeling of soaring in ecstasy for all to see.