Books and Music

Over the past few months I’ve been reading noticeably less, mainly because I’ve been indulging more in the pleasures of music. In recent years, music had slipped a bit into the background for me; I sometimes listened a little while working, but only as background noise in the slow lane. A few months ago, I rediscovered my record player in the basement and listened through all my records. That was quite a delight, and it reminded me that listening to music with full attention is a very different experience from having something on in the background. I long avoided the whole topic of vinyl because I knew I’d be opening a big can of worms. But in the end I treated myself to a nice turntable, and since then I’ve picked up some wonderful LPs. Simply listening to music in the evening is something I used to do often, and even now it’s a very pleasant form of slowing down. I also realized that music and books are closely interwoven for me. That’s what I want to muse about a little today.

I once wrote about books and music and found that many people don’t listen to music while reading, don’t like it, or simply prefer absolute silence. I like both. I very much enjoy it when everything is completely quiet, but I also love listening to music while I’m reading a good story. I’ve gotten used to immersing myself in books even in noisy environments and shutting everything else out. I can read calmly even when someone next to me on the commuter train is chatting — something I had to learn and that wasn’t easy at first. With music, it’s different: even if it doesn’t match the book at all, it often harmonizes beautifully. When I recently read Das Quartett der Liebenden, I kept putting on Paramore’s self-titled album (Paramore), and indie rock doesn’t exactly fit that love story. But in my head it worked, and whenever I spin that record now, I inevitably think of Carmen and the impetuous love between her and Moro.

Little by little I picked up a variety of records and noticed how music runs like a red thread through my life. In the end, there aren’t that many albums in my personal hall of fame, and the soundtrack of my life is actually not that extensive — at least not the music that truly moves me and means something to me. The choices I’ve made are often connected with books, which are also a fixed part of my life. Many songs not only evoke memories of a single book but also of long-past feelings and thoughts — and this connection is rare and therefore very positive. I still remember when I first heard and fell in love with the soundtrack to Dances with Wolves — back then on cassette and later on CD. When I listen to the music now, it feels as if it were only yesterday that I was reading Noah Gordon’s The Shaman. The gentle strings suited the novel’s setting in the New World wonderfully, which is also the film’s backdrop. I haven’t reread the book since, and I can’t recall any specifics from it, but the mood I felt while reading — not just from the book, but also the soft, orange light in my room as the sheer curtains diffused the sunlight, the memory of warm summer days in my childhood, and of course the music itself — has become a fixed part of who I am. When I put that record on now, the associated emotions are naturally only a shadow of what they were and much changed — the brain leads you astray with such reminiscences. Still, that beautiful, gentle orchestral music — which on vinyl has just the right warm hue — and the reflections it stirs up are a pleasant diversion. And of course the music also stands on its own and still offers a wonderful listening experience.

There are some artists I can listen to anytime, so I don’t associate them with specific books. Even so, in my mind a blend emerges from all the reading and all the phases of life during which I listened to that music. There are, however, albums I don’t really want to hear these days.

While music of course awakens or intensifies emotions, it has a broader effect for me. For example, when I read Horcynus Orca, I always listened to Blank & Jones’ Relax Editions. That demanding novel has a very particular musicality to its language, and in its beautiful, expansive sentences you can always hear the murmur of the sea, the surge of the waves, the flow of a music that only artfully arranged sentences can create. There are a few books where, while reading, I feel as if I were listening to a beautiful melody. When, as with Horcynus Orca, the music I’m playing fits the text so perfectly and the two complement each other, it heightens the quality of those reading hours immensely. It’s relaxing in a very special way, and I slip into a reading flow that I otherwise know only from my work in software development.

What has never been a source of music for me, by contrast, are the books themselves. I can’t say I’ve ever discovered a musician because of a novel. Of course there are wonderful books about music — Richard Powers’s The Time of Our Singing, for example. It’s a marvelous novel about the cruelty of racism but also about the depth and meaning music can hold in a human life. I especially loved Powers’s passages about the emergence of jazz and blues, which he renders with a particularly beautiful musicality of language. That naturally sparks a desire for jazz, and with a book like that I can’t resist hauling out my turntable. Still, I wouldn’t say I’ve discovered a specific artist through a book.

When you have a book in your hands, you can toss all constraints overboard in choosing the right music — and I often do — or you can deliberately reach for a specific genre. Film music suggests itself: what works well with moving pictures also works for books. Or classical music, which always fits. A genre I find outstandingly suited to reading is video-game soundtracks. Film music is tightly tailored to individual scenes, and that’s exactly what doesn’t work in games; no one can know how long a player will linger in a given place or how long they will experience a particular episode. Game music is built accordingly — it has to envelop the listener pleasantly for extended periods without quickly becoming dull. On top of that, the music for big game blockbusters is often produced at great expense. Considering budgets in gaming often far exceed those of typical films, it’s clear that the music can be superb. The Horizon Zero Dawn soundtrack even had four composers, and if you enjoy the music — as I do — on a magnificent premium vinyl edition, you’re in for a truly grand acoustic experience. Or the Skyrim soundtrack by Jeremy Soule, which is simply a masterpiece, with influences from film composers like John Williams and musical structures strongly reminiscent of Wagner’s operas: epic yet gentle and emotional. For me, it’s a wonderful way to enhance the pleasure of reading.

How about you? Do you listen to music while you read? What role does music play in your life? Do you have a turntable? Or is music while reading a non-starter for you?