Blunderov
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"We think in generalities, we live in details"
  
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RE: virus: Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da, Amygdala: Word as Earworm
« on: 2005-01-11 07:50:57 » |
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[Blunderov] Ever wonder why the Bolero is such an effective earworm?
(Dumpp da da da dump, da da da dump...)
http://www.nytimes.com/2005/01/11/health/11side.html?th
Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da, Amygdala: Word as Earworm
By JAMES GORMAN
Published: January 11, 2005
My infatuation with the amygdala has led me to wonder where aphasia and
amusia overlap, a subject that neurologists have been investigating for
many years. Damage to the brain can interfere with spoken language -
aphasia. But it can also harm the ability to hear and produce melody.
All this goes on in some part of the temporal lobe, not the amygdala,
which is an almond-size structure in the brain (the word comes from the
Greek for almond) that is involved with fear, emotion, sexuality and
other aspects of humanity that lie below or behind the conscious mind.
But this is off the point. I am infatuated with the word "amygdala," not
the brain structure, although I suppose the meaning and the science
contribute to the word's appeal. But I like its sound, you might say its
musicality. And that has made me wonder about how speech and music
overlap.
For example, can a word be an earworm? An earworm is a tune that lodges
itself in the brain and will not be moved. Songs like "It's a Small
World" or "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da" can become earworms. In a different
class, "Là ci darem la mano," from Mozart's "Don Giovanni," might
insinuate itself into every waking moment, although it seems wrong to
compare such a lovely aria to an invertebrate.
Words are not music, however, even though they may work their way into
corners of our brain and then insist that they be pronounced, often,
sometimes at inopportune moments. A friend who is given to word
fixations once fell into the grip of the word "vomeronasal," as in, "In
humans, the vomeronasal organ that is so important for other mammals in
the perception of pheromones appears to be vestigial."
It was some kind of worm, certainly. Vomeronasal is vaguely unpleasant.
Amygdala has a deep and mysterious sound: uh-MIG-duh-luh. For all I
know, its allure may touch neurons in the very structure it denotes.
I've been thinking of it in a variety of contexts. I like it as the
given name of an ethnically indecipherable femme fatale in a James Bond
movie - Amygdala McBain.
As she sways into the laboratory of the evil neuroscientist on
curare-tipped spike heels, Sean Connery cracks a crooked, predatory
smile and says, "Amygdala, my dear, what an unexpected pleasure."
It's the juxtaposition of the hard and primitive "myg" with the more
liquid "la" that gets you. And in between, of course, is the alveolar
stop, the "d" that does indeed stop the word if you let it. Amygdala is
not an easy word. It doesn't say itself. You have to speak it, with a
conscious effort, like a spell or imprecation.
It's pretty close to music, but not quite. Music and speech are similar
and somehow linked in the brain, but they are also separate. One can
have amusia, for example, and be unable to perceive melody, but have no
difficulty with speech.
One can have aphasia and yet keep one's musical abilities intact, as in
the case of Vissarion Shebalin, a 20th-century Russian composer who lost
some of his ability to speak and understand language because of strokes,
but was still able to compose music.
Some people are born with various degrees of amusia. Not only pitch is
involved, but timing as well. Some people cannot keep time or dance to
music.
Lesions in the brain can cause terrifying losses, like the one described
in The Journal of Neurology, Neurosurgery & Psychiatry in 2000 about an
amateur musician who suffered aphasia that receded, leaving speech
intact but depriving him of something that had previously enriched his
life.
"Sounds are empty and cold," the paper quotes him as saying. "Singing
sounds like shouting to me." Music made him feel uncomfortable, the
researchers reported.
And yet, he was able to understand language and the changing tones of
language. The paper did not report whether he was able to savor
language, to enjoy the pleasures afforded by words that seem similar to
the pleasures of melody.
How strange that words and melody, which can be married so completely,
can sometimes be severed. How odd that a person could appreciate poetry
and not melody, that somewhere in the brain a line is drawn between the
lyrics and the tune.
It seems wrong, because all the best words are musical. I know amygdala
is. I have evidence. There are several bands called "Amygdala" that I
found on the Web.
And I was tempted by a CD on a German label by an artist named Laszlo
Hortobagyi titled "Traditional Musik of Amygdala," which was described
as "an imaginary journey throughout the entire Amygdala Empire in the
spirit of the ethno-musicology expeditions at the turn of the century."
Well, not that tempted.
Musicians, by definition, have an ear for music. Someday, perhaps, we
will replace the word almond with amygdala. Then we could have a candy
bar called Amygdala Joy. And perhaps some aspect of joy actually resides
in, where else, the amygdala.
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