The Power of Music in Times of Sorrow

On The National's new album and the worst week of my life.

We’re doing something a bit differently this week at The Wax Museum.

If you don’t want to be reminded of the tragedies of life, come back next week for regularly scheduled vinyl programming.

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Just a week ago, the unimaginable ripped through my world. My best friend Troy, a vibrant soul of 35, was here one moment, laughing and sharing inside jokes, and gone the next — seized by a heart attack. The suddenness is still surreal.

The void deepens knowing that he leaves behind a one-year-old daughter, Alice. [Please consider supporting Alice’s future through this GoFundMe link.]

What magnifies this profound pain is the persistent continuation of life around it. My Sunday morning lacked Troy's lively banter, his “stone cold lock parlay” texts. Each of these missed moments and unshared texts has become a heavy weight, a constant reminder of his absence.

Yet in the uncanny manner that the universe operates, on Sunday night, The National, known for their “sad dad” genre of music, released their surprise album Laugh Track, a companion piece to this year’s First Two Pages of Frankenstein.

At face value, The National might seem like a clichéd band to listen to after such a tragedy. This is a band that once played “Sorrow” 105 times in six hours.

Yet, the pull towards melancholic music during trying times is both universal and paradoxical. Contrary to seeking cheerful tunes to brighten one's mood, most gravitate towards somber sounds during their darkest hours, as if the chords mirror the heart's distress.

There's actually a biological element tethering us to this phenomenon. The hormone prolactin, often released during trauma, may also be triggered by sad music. This response provides an emotional safety net, letting us journey through grief without feeling too consumed.

I pressed play on Laugh Track with a naive sense of detachment, having not been particularly moved by their recent Frankenstein album. However, this time was different. Overwhelmed by sorrow, each note struck a chord and each lyric magnified the pain.

🎶 I'm going off the deep end / Barely sleeping / […] I can't stop myself from thinking about you all the time

🎶 It finally hits me, a mile's drive / The sky is leaking, my windshield's cryin' / I'm feeling sacred, my soul is stripped / Radio's painful, the words are clipped / The grief, it gets me, the weird goodbyes

🎶 Everything melted in less than a week / Watching you felt like forever / The lights started dimming and then they went out / Heaven came down like a blanket

🎶 Alice, do what you can / To get me out of this plan tonight

By the time "Tour Manager" played, with its haunting invocation of a character named Alice, the name of my best friend’s daughter, the dam of emotions fully burst, bringing with it a visceral, unparalleled reaction to music unlike any I’ve experienced before.

Music, in these moments, is not just an auditory experience. It pierces through our defenses to create a soulful resonance. Science affirms that our brains have unique circuits dedicated solely to music, which allows songs to reverberate within us, turning us into living, breathing instruments.

There is a transcendent quality to beautiful music; somber tones guide us through our grief, while uplifting ones help us find a path forward. In these challenging times, I’m even more inspired to bring more music into my home; spinning old records or some new favorites to offer solace to friends, family, and myself.

Amidst the overwhelming pain, The National's Laugh Track provided a small source of consolation and catharsis, a testament to music's healing power. Whether we're elated or heartbroken, music is our constant, a beacon that guides us through life's intricate dance.