Opinion: In the early 80s, as a young mother, music teacher and gig musician, I was vitally aware of the role of music in my life and how crucial it was to my wellbeing. Various pieces could improve my mood, help me to move faster or for longer when exercising, emotions and memories would suddenly return when I heard certain pieces, and I found it easier to remember facts and numbers when I chanted them rhythmically. When making music with fellow musicians, I felt powerfully connected to them; and even singing with a group of strangers, at a sports event for example, I would experience a sudden sense of pride and belonging to the wider group.
Yet, until my daughter was born deaf in 1984, I had not seriously contemplated the range of significant barriers that prevent many people from experiencing and benefiting from music. Working alongside the team at Van Asch Deaf Education Centre, I recognised that using carefully planned and executed music programmes enabled the children to access music and helped their learning and personal growth. Suddenly, the concept of “music therapy” became not only logical, but crucial, and I had found my calling in life.
Since then, I have witnessed numerous ways that making, listening to, or composing music can support the development of a therapeutic relationship, and positively transform the lives of people who have a wide range of identified emotional, intellectual, physical or social needs.
What a joy it has been, for example, to help a mum sing lullabies to her premature baby; accompany the movements of non-speaking autistic children from the piano, to see them recognise the connection and begin reciprocal musical communication; to see a child with cerebral palsy take their first steps supported by my carefully timed and planned rhythmic accompaniment; and to collaborate with a group of adolescents with intellectual challenges who evaluated what music meant to them and ultimately won a national research award.
What a privilege it was to witness the love between a woman living with dementia and her husband, as together we sang “their song”; to compose a song with a dying man that he would record as a legacy for his family; and to hear a young man in the prison system thank me simply because, through our music making, he felt genuinely listened to.
Music therapists work with people of all ages and abilities, with individuals and groups, and in many different settings – so perhaps it is unsurprising that it can be difficult to describe in a few words what music therapy is. But people who experience or witness such beautiful moments generally become committed and passionate supporters.
I have been fortunate to author the published history of Music Therapy New Zealand, to be launched at its golden anniversary celebrations this year.
Yet, despite successes, music therapy is not always easily accessible to those who need it. If there were more equitable, flexible and sustainable funding options for disabled people or people with mental health needs, for example, they would be more able to access services such as music therapy and be less prone to poverty, stress and isolation.
After 50 years of hard work, music therapy is now established as a research-based allied health discipline that should be available as a routine option within our health, education, and welfare systems.
Daphne Rickson is president emeritus and life member of Music Therapy New Zealand. Her book will be launched at the music therapy conference in Wellington next month.
