The relationship between music and writing

At a first glance, instrumental music and storytelling might seem two entirely different worlds.

One uses abstract sounds, the other immediate, tangible words. One is pure emotion and rhythm, the other is quite literally a blueprint to project actions and imagery into your mind’s eye. And just as I type this I can’t help seeing how much these two art forms have in common.
As an author and former violin player (I rarely have time to pick up my poor old fiddle these days) the connection came to me almost subconsciously.

The most immediate similarity is how both words and sounds can so effectively – sometimes painfully – make you feel a certain way. The tranquil, mellow notes of an oboe are a universe away from the screeching of a violin on its highest notes (think Psycho!). The slow notes of a piano are to our ears as melancholic and soothing like a trickle of water, and so is language.

How many of you will shudder a little bit now that you’re about to read the word moist. And I don’t blame you. It’s an odd sounding word, slightly offensive to the ear, even for someone whose first language is not English. Words are, after all, little musical pieces in themselves. Words like bloated, parasite, excretion (no, I’m not talking about Donald Trump) repel us instantly (well, maybe I am…), and that transcends language. Like when my Japanese friend told me that chin-chin is their equivalent for lil’ wiener.

Something else that sound adds to storytelling is musicality. My favourite example is The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe (also one of my favourite poems of all time). How can anyone not react to the bouncing rhythms of Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore…, culminating with those dark, haunting lines: And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted—nevermore!

And this doesn’t just apply to poetry. I always remember Scarlet O’Hara, in full mourning but desperate to dance, singing in her head “One-two-three, one-two-three, dip-sway—three, turn—two-three…” From the first time I read it I could hear the waltz in my head, and almost feel my body wanting to sway. Words evoking sound and movement as effectively as sound evokes emotions and makes us want to tap the floor or stand up and dance.

And very much like rests and silences in a musical theme, punctuation and pauses in a sentence help break down ideas and make the content flow more clearly.

Something not quite so obvious, and which I learned more from intuition than actual study, was how music can give you a feeling for structure. The best musical pieces have counterpoints; a secondary melody that plays underneath the main theme. It may seem less important or be easily overlooked, but without it the main melody feels incomplete.

This also applies to plotting stories. Concertos and sonatas with their three movements – a lively start, then a calm, reflective middle, leading to a flashy, climactic end. These are like emotional blueprints, perfectly mirrored in the classic three act structure in narrative. We recognize them instinctively and come to expect them.

One of the best examples is Vivaldi’s Summer. The original score was annotated with evocative verses, perhaps a sonnet written by Vivaldi himself, that complement the music and work in synergy to paint the full picture.

In the first movement Vivaldi introduces us to a lazy summer afternoon and asks us to picture birds singing, blazing sun and a gentle breeze, but he also introduces the first thunderous themes that will thwart our peaceful meadow. In the second movement, much darker, the sounds and words talk about flies and wasps buzzing into our ears, a shepherd increasingly uneased, and the discomfort of the coming storm grows and grows.

All this culminates in his thunderous third movement; the storm hits us in full force and the violins hammer us relentlessly like the drumming of devastating rain. We’ve heard the themes before, we’ve heard the warnings, and all of them lead us to a surprising and yet inevitable conclusion.

Just like the best stories, in my opinion, ought to be.

The End of the Vodka by Oscar de Muriel is published by Extraordinary Books (£16.99)

Want to explore the relationship between music and your own writing? Try these ideas to see how music can inspire your words!