Last weekend I learned the emotional power of music first-hand when my roommate and I acquired a… Last weekend I learned the emotional power of music first-hand when my roommate and I acquired a couple of PittArts tickets to see Yo-Yo Ma in concert. During the last of his three encores, Ma played a rendition of “The Swan” from The Carnival of the Animals suite by Camille Saint-Saens. As we stood to applaud, my roommate looked over at me to see a stream of tears coursing pathetically down my face.

Even though the movement was gorgeous, I wasn’t crying because I was overwhelmed by beauty. I wasn’t really thinking about anything sad either. But I’m convinced there was something about the cello lines that triggered something in my brain and turned into an enormous lump in my throat. The lump became tears, and within moments, I was the crazy lady sobbing in the third row.

Despite my embarrassment, this intense emotional reaction to classical music is actually pretty common and based upon ingrained, internal response patterns.

It doesn’t happen to all of us, but a 1991 study by British researchers on music structure and emotional response says that emotional responses to music grow with repeated exposure to the same song. Crying is the most emotional and not necessarily because a person is sad.

At the concert, I recognized “The Swan” immediately but didn’t know where it was from. Like the classical-musically illiterate person I am, I thought it might be Vivaldi. The movement features a cello solo, which is supposed to evoke a swan gliding over water. One or two accompanying pianos play sixteenths and rolled chords, which are supposed to represent the swan’s feet beneath the water, hidden from view but propelling the bird along on its swim.

Since I didn’t know the title of the movement, I didn’t think of any birds or animals. I don’t even remember what I could have thought about. As far as I know, I was just listening and watching as Ma played with his eyes closed and his head tilted back.

But I know I heard the suite somewhere, from a long time ago. I was classically instructed on the violin for years. Unfortunately, I was a brat who wasted it. I hated practicing, I hated the pressure of one-on-one tutoring, I didn’t like the kids in orchestra, and I quit. Looking back, I still think it was probably one of the silliest things I’ve ever done. Today I would sell my left foot to get any of that skill back — but honestly, I’m still not willing to practice every day.

Even though I neglected my musical education, it apparently left a mark. The 1991 study cites another article that found emotional responses grow during repeated exposure to music, classical or not, as the listener discovers more subtle features in the music. Good music always has something more to express — more than it can express in a first listen.

In the Harvard Gazette, William J. Cromie explained how the brain listens to music. Triggered by music notes, the inner ear fires electrical signals that create a conscious musical experience in the auditory cortex. Different patterns excite different cells, creating an association between the sound of music and feelings, thoughts or past experiences.

All music works this way, whether rock ’n’ roll or a concerto, and culture and experience play a large role in the way we perceive it. But what occurred to me as I was sitting in Heinz Hall sobbing was that, in this case, my thoughts didn’t have much to do with it.

Instead, I think that music was touching on something more primal than emotional state. After all, whales make music too. Patricia Gray, the head of the Biomusic program at the National Academy of the Sciences, says in a study that human music actually has a lot in common with whale music, even though our evolutionary paths haven’t intersected for 60 million years. Gray suggests that, somehow, music predates humans.

So perhaps I cried for a combination of reasons: prior exposure to the song, musical appreciation and stimulation of my auditory cortex. But no matter the reasons behind my sobbing fit, I’m glad I got to have it.

Even though I was embarrassed, even though I kept my bloodshot eyes lowered as I scuttled out of the auditorium and to the waiting school bus, I am happy to think that I touched on something ancient, something that predates me or Ma or even Saint-Saens. Yo-Yo would have been so proud.

Write Caitlyn at [email protected].