The Power of Music

Whilst singing at a care home for people with dementia I was reminded yet again of the incredible, transformative power of music.

My session at Beatrice Place in West London hadn't got off to a great start. There are far fewer residents now than when I used to do my monthly pre-Covid set of Irish songs that were much enjoyed by people of whatever nationality. There had been a lovely Tipperary woman called Delores who always wanted me to start with 'It's a Long Way to Tipperary', and I always gladly obliged, and I tried to do 'county-specific' songs for each of the Irish residents. And there was a radiant Colombian lady who always told me at the end in Spanish how much she had liked the singing.

Delores sadly died during the pandemic, as did others. The Colombian lady, like some others, has moved to a different place. Those that remain seem far more passive and withdrawn that they used to be, an unfortunate consequence of prolonged lockdowns and lack of social contact and activities.

I began with a couple of waltzes, The Black Velvet Band and The Galway Shawl. At the recent CSAN Directors meeting in Rome I'd kicked off with those two numbers one evening in the bar, accompanied by Jim from Caritas Cardiff, and they'd gone down a treat. And when I played The Galway Shawl a couple of weeks ago at our Inter-generational event at Holy Family School some of the older Irish had got up to dance.

It was a different story this time. There was barely any reaction from those present, and a Dublin lady there was fast asleep. 'This could be a tough gig,' I thought to myself! But often in such situations I think of a concert that Ed Sheeran once did. He was on the cusp of breaking through and had secured a great venue in London that came with a sound engineer. Only problem was, nobody came, not a single person, so that there was just him and the sound engineer. He thought to himself, 'I've just got to go ahead and do my best gig regardless.' And that is what he did. And that is what I thought to myself that day in Beatrice Place: 'I've just got to go ahead and do my best gig.'

I tried a couple of livelier numbers and slowly but surely I started to get a reaction from the audience and some of the staff were also getting animated. Several people sang along to the chorus of Molly Malone, and when I launched into It's a Long Way to Tipperary in honour of Delores it didn't exactly bring the house down but it wasn't too far off. At one point a young doctor apologised to me that she would have to be taking some people out one by one to take their blood! 'Don't worry, I've had far worse distractions when I've been playing,' I assured her. You just have to keep going!

Keep going I did, and I noticed that one or two other staff members had crept into the room and were clearly enjoying what was happening. And I noticed that some of the residents, who had appeared almost lifeless at the start, were now moving their bodies in time to the music. I did a couple of 'favourites'. For Ann, the Irish member of staff who organises the session, I sang The Fields of Athenry. And I did When you were sweet sixteen which is the favourite song of my wife, Yim Soon and also much-loved by my mum. And in honour of my mum, a Newry girl, I did 'The Star of the County Down'.

I invited requests from the floor and there was one for The Belle of Belfast City which I happily launched into. Then a carer from Greece asked if I knew any songs from Mayo! Luckily I did, although I needed her to bring up on her phone the lyrics to Take me back to Castlebar. After that, someone reminded me that the favourite of Martin, a Cork man sadly no longer there, was Wild Rover. I finished with that, and that one really did bring the house down! By that time, even the Dublin lady was wide awake with a broad smile and with her face shining.

I asked the crowd if they'd like me to come back again at Christmas. "Yes," was the slightly muted response. "I can't hear you," I said. "YES," they shouted. And I duly made a date with Ann for a Christmas concert. I well remember going there at Christmas three years ago and having a similar experience, with people's bodies beginning to move in response to the familiar tunes. As I went round the group on this occasion to say my goodbyes, one of the residents said to me in a faint voice, "I enjoyed the songs. It brought tears to my eyes." And as I was leaving, the doctor came up to me and told me how she'd been touched by the music.

The moral of the story, if indeed one is needed: even when things seem tough, we just need to keep going and to try and do our best gig. And let us never ever forget the incredible, transformative power of music.