When guitarist Graham Coxson started the epic riff of Song 2 at ten minutes past three on Friday morning, the audience at Primavera Sound went wild. Seeing and hearing Blur interpret such an iconic theme was for many the culmination of a great night; the time to dance without a brake; of singing at the top of your lungs (the English with the intonation they learn in pubs and, those here, doing what they can); the opportunity to take the most viral video selfie. "It's not my problem", proclaimed Damon Albarn from the stage.
In situations like this, the comforting feeling of belonging to the same community is activated in each of those present. Seeing others move along the same festive ramp that makes you move and approaching the stage reaffirms your enjoyment of this ephemeral pleasure.
Something similar happens in stadiums when the act of scoring a goal generates a sudden burst of shared joy. People who don't know each other at all can embrace each other in full rapture, even in societies that are not as effusive as the Catalan one. But it is clear that the impulse that motivates the enjoyment of football is more basic (or, if you prefer, less complex) than what leads us to listen to the same song over and over again.
The question – no less – of why we like the songs we like is what teacher, sound engineer and producer Susan Rogers addresses in her book This is what it sounds like. What the music you love says about you (Vintage), which Blackie Books will publish in Spanish. Rogers and journalist Marta Salicrú spoke about what the songs we like say about us during the Primavera Pro conference.
Rogers, who was Prince's sound engineer on Purple Rain, determines the internal processes that make a song flood our brains with dopamine: authenticity; realism (what your mind wants to see when you listen to a subject); novelty; melody, lyrics, rhythm and timbre. "A good subject does not have to be perfect - he explained - since each person's profile is different from the other. If you're more into melodies, you don't need a funky drummer, you already have Beethoven, who appeals to you".
Rogers has a suggestive expression to define this search for our own musical identity: "I wrote this book to help you better understand the street you live on, even if (like me) you don't know how to tell a sharp from a B flat". In his opinion, this learning allows you to improve your connection with music and enjoy it more, as well as getting to know yourself better.
This reflection is at the origin of the happy moment you live in front of the riff of Song 2 or when you listen to the verses of Alright by Kendrick Lamar: the feeling that you live on the same street as the people around you, even if the London festival-goer on your left is more stimulated by the rhythm than the melody and you, unlike the Nottingham tourist on your right, prioritize originality over lyrics.
The value of the face-to-face experience of a festival is no small matter. Interacting in space, time and interest with the public and artists is the best way to resist the advance of the uniformizing algorithm. In the midst of the dizzying development of artificial intelligence (AI), it is urgent to learn to identify the factors that make the face-to-face experience not only more authentic, but also more stimulating. Learn to identify those who live on our same street. And to celebrate with them.
This week a suspicion was confirmed: young people understand less and less of what they read. In Catalonia, the deficit in reading comprehension is particularly embarrassing. And the music? Do we understand why we like the songs we like? Will the next generations appreciate the goldsmith work of analog composers who activate our neural networks in a differentiated and unipersonal way, or will they settle for canned music for a chat? The work of Susan Rogers points the (good) way.
