Today is Tuesday, February 18th, and in this seventh episode I’d like to share with you some reflections on the question:
Does music therapy work?
Let me clear the field of any possible doubt straight away: my answer is a full and absolute yes.
Of course, my total faith in the fact that music therapy “works” is not always enough to calm the doubts of the person asking the question, especially if that person already has, more or less consciously, a personal opinion on the matter — and if that opinion is negative.
So, if I sense that the “question-asker” is worried about the public health system wasting its money by paying charlatans who promise miraculous cures to the sound of A-flat, then when they ask me, “Does music therapy work?”, I immediately answer with a nice clear:
“No, absolutely not. I’m not an aspirin.”
There is also a more playful variation:
“No. That’ll be fifty euros.”
I’ll leave you to imagine the reaction.
Joking aside, I’d like to reflect with you on why someone ends up asking us:
“Does music therapy work?”
Why is it not enough for us to complete professional training and acquire professional skills in order to stop that doubt before it even begins?
My idea?
We brought this on ourselves.
Yes, you understood correctly.
For me, the responsibility for all this is ours alone.
And when I say “ours”, I mean us educators, because what we say — or do not say — to our students will shape the professionals of tomorrow.
Let me try to explain this with a little story.
Imagine you are a ten-year-old child, eager to enter the adult world: the world where everyone seems cool, rich, and happy; the world that fills the bars and clubs of every city from Friday to Sunday night.
This child decides to do everything possible to be accepted into that world.
He puts on a jacket and tie, walks into a bar, goes up to the counter, and asks for:
“An Aperol Spritz.”
And he tries, as best he can, to imitate the voice of an adult.
At that point, the bartender asks him:
“Good evening. Are you eighteen?”
Of course, the question is rhetorical.
The bartender knows perfectly well that this child is not old enough to buy alcohol.
Now, I think we can all agree that, rather than discussing whether the bartender’s question makes sense, it may be more useful to ask ourselves why that child has decided that buying alcohol is the gesture that will make him equal to his models.
Or, even more importantly, we should ask ourselves why the child wants to resemble that kind of adult in the first place.
Imitation is, after all, a natural process, typically found in childhood, and it takes place through the adoption of models.
But why does music therapy try so desperately to be accepted by medicine?
Is it possible that we all forget that the word used to describe our profession contains the word music as well?
Would you like to know a secret I have never told anyone?
I dream of the day when, instead of asking me:
“Does music therapy work?”
someone will ask me:
“But is music therapy beautiful?”
This brings today’s episode to an end.
We’ll meet again on Tuesday, February 25th, with another episode — this time on a very practical topic that many people have been asking for:
what criteria should we use to determine the value of our work?
In other words:
How much can I charge per hour for music therapy?