It turns out that while the brain loves predictability, it celebrates surprises – at least, small ones. Those little momentary shivers we sometimes feel are a result of those surprises. There’s even a term for that: ‘frisson’.

Although this sensation can be connected to a startle of any kind (remember the horror movie The Tingler, where some audience seats were connected to a mild electric shock generator?). Most of the time, however, frisson is a sensation associated with music — and specifically, a change in octave/pitch.

Researchers have determined that during a song, a 1% change in a tone can cause a frisson. The change may occur while the momentum of the melody is increasing in pitch/tempo – or decreasing in pitch/rhythm. It has been reported that a Rolling Stones song, Gimme Shelter, was boosted by Merry Clayton, whose raw wail: “Rape, murder, it’s just a shot away” in the background vocals helped make the song a hit. In fact, a film clip was made about this situation: Twenty feet from Stardom. I listened to the clip: her phrasing is plaintive and close to a low howl. Which is interesting, because the kilohertz range of a human scream is precisely where human hearing is most receptive.

Frisson is a term that explains some memorable songs for me. Do you ever get a ‘chill’ when listening to a favorite tune – or become surprised by the direction of a song? Children’s a Capela Choral groups can do that for me. Copland’s Fanfare for the Common Man also produces that result. Copland is known for changing the loudness of his compositions (soft to loud), but I think the depth of the orchestra often surprises me when more instruments are suddenly brought to bear at a particular moment. It seems to create an extra dimension of sound. But that’s not only what causes the tingle for me; rather it’s the pristine/plaintive harmony of the horns. Maybe the saturated orchestral sound reinforces the little frisson?

Other, less bombastic, music can have the same effect. The first time I heard Joni Mitchell’s Conversation, I was laying on a bare hardwood floor at the same level as two large speakers. There is a point where the intro brings in strident guitar chords followed by Joni’s voice and then it kicks up a notch when she changes octave with the lines, “Comfort and consultation, He knows that’s what he’ll find”. It was as though the small room expanded into a large auditorium. Sound filled every corner – no doubt augmented by sound bouncing off the hardwood floor. I definitely felt a momentary chill – as well as a feeling of there being “something more” out there. Who knows what that “something more” was or is… but I still feel echoes of that sense when I hear that song. Joni is characterized by her ability to change octave and try different harmonies – and maybe the that’s the common denominator between Fanfare horns and Joni’s intro.

So, I talked to audiophile friend to ask his opinion. He said “Well, it sounds like you are talking about ‘brilliance’, when there is an overload of treble”. It turns out that the vocabulary of acoustics has its own language: fullness vs. clarity, warmth vs. brilliance, texture and time intervals for reverb, blend and distribution, ambiance and presence. While I would have thought that these terms were solely poetic descriptors, I found mathematical definitions which involved decibels, tone repetition, and time between reverberations. It was as though a new door had opened to a land that was brand new to me, but well-traveled to many enthusiasts. Did you know that there is a ‘Frisson’ community in Reddit? Some posts debate where a frisson starts (arm or scalp?) – or is it different than an ASMR (autonomous sensory meridian response)?

There are times when I wonder if in our striving to pinpoint a concept, the deconstruction of the elements makes it more difficult to grasp the essence of the experience. I guess I’m a gestalt person and prefer to think the whole is greater than the sum of the parts.

Yet, I have been working my way through a Spotify “Frisson Playlist” of 700 songs that has been compiled. Many of the pieces aren’t what you might expect. There’s plenty of diversity: classical, rock, blues and country tunes. Each is related only by its ability to provide a little shiver of frisson.  Here’s the link: Spotify –

Try it and report back your feelings.

Here’s one description of frisson from poet Black Hamlet in allpoetry.com

Frisson
Skin of lower back will flex,
a shiver rising upward,
inward from the shoulders, neck,
extending to the forehead.

Piloerection follows,
hair aping face that’s flushèd;
waves pound the back like quick blows,
involuntary gasps, small deaths,

Breath ragged like a memory
informs the nature of the debt,
reminding you you have not seen
nor touched real friction, e’en though wet.

So set your clock to fate o’clock
and feel the frisson take its hold,
the only question, one of when,
not if, or could, I be so bold.

Frisson, Perhaps

It is said that music soothes the savage beast.  I’m not sure where I qualify in the savage beast category, but I certainly am soothed by the music I enjoy.  The first record I ever bought was probably when I was 5 or so.  It was a little yellow golden record of Dinah Shore singing Buttons and Bows.  And the next one was probably Doris Day singing How Much is That Doggy in the Window.  As the years passed and the record industry became more sophisticated and technical, I moved on the 45 RPMs with the big hole in the middle that either needed a plastic adapter for, or a wide spindle.  My Webcor  HiFi record player in green and white was my prized possession in my bedroom. The first two 45’s I bought were Born too Late and Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star and the rock n roll years began.  I learned to dance using my bedroom door as my partner and the doorknob as my partner’s hand.  I learned to do the Lindy that way while watching American Bandstand.  Nobody was in the house when I was doing that.  I would play these songs over and over again to the anguish of my parents.  Music was in my blood by then. I was drawn to it and listened to it all the time.  It made me feel good, put me in a good mood and lifted my spirits.

Being a baby boomer myself, my parents always played Big Band music.  I came to enjoy that music as well,  along with the old time crooners.  The lyrics and the music could make you feel sad, angry, happy just by the stories they told.  My parents didn’t want any rock n’ roll music on the big stereo console in the living room.  The only popular singer they had on an album was Connie Francis because she sang a few songs in Italian. My dad would sing along with her songs and somehow it was comforting on a hot afternoon listening to Connie and Dad sing a duet in Italian. It made me feel safe and secure.  Music can do that to you.  Like the music on Twilight Zone when some monster was about to appear and the music would get faster and higher pitched until at last the monster appeared.  No doubt designed to make the goose bumps rise and create tension.  I had never heard the term frisson until Wally exposed me to it.  I always thought that my reaction to music was more a reaction brought on by association of the circumstances and the people sharing the experience with you. It never occurred to me that it could actually be a physiologic, biologic response to the actual sound of the music.

I remember as a young kid going to watch the Memorial Day and 4th of July parades in my neighborhood.  Northern Blvd would be crowded with sightseers from the surrounding areas waiting for the parade to commence.  My friends and I had our bikes all decorated with red, white, and blue streamers braided through the spokes of our bike wheels and usually a playing card clothes pinned to the axle of the bike so that as we rode the card would clack in and out of the spokes.  As the parade approached, the drums could be heard and as it neared  our viewing position all the men would remove their hats and hold them over their hearts as the American flag passed by,  At that moment my arms would feel the sensation of pins and needles and invariably a tear or two would slide down my cheek. It wasn’t yet 10 years past World War II so patriotism was fresh on everybody’s minds.  Frisson or situational association?

As a teen,  Friday evening was airport night.  We would jump into my friend’s Nitro and drive to Idlewild Airport (the name hadn’t been changed yet to JFK) to watch the planes landing and taking off with a lot of other kids.  You could go right out on the observation deck and see the passengers sitting in their seats.  While driving there on the Van Wyke Expressway we would listen to Cousin Brucie and invariably the Beatles’ song, If I fell, would be on and we would be singing at the top of our lungs along with the radio.  Today whenever I hear that song it brings me right back to the expressway and the three of us singing at the tops of our voices. I get the chills thinking about the music, the company, and the setting.  Again, frisson or association?

When I was travelling with my partner through Wales we would stop in small towns for the night.  It seemed that every evening it was common practice for the churches to be open and for male choirs to sing. I believe they called it Even Song and we got to the point that we would look for signs of that wherever we stopped. The power of men’s voices singing in deep harmonies, in dark candlelit churches not only caused goose bumps but shivers down my spine as well.  My question is the same, but not being a scientist or biologist or whoever studies such things, I may never know.  I just know I will continue to feel the chills, and goose bumps, and hair standing up on my arms just the same.  Frisson?  Perhaps or maybe just memories surfacing up to skin level while the brain works overtime.

The Power and Potential of Frisson

Wal writes of the power of surprise and the physical and emotional effects we can feel from it, especially in music.  It’s in the change that captures our attention and often stimulates an unconscious physical reaction.

When Wal asked if we had listened to any music that brought us the feeling of chills or shivers, “Chariots of Fire” came to mind.  The movie and music came out in 1981 and overlapped my training for my first NYC Marathon in 1982.  Not a runner by instinct, for me, it was a personal challenge to be met.  Putting in the long hours of running to prepare my body for a single 26.2 mile race, I often struggled as much psychologically as I did physically.  By that I mean, it was as much an effort to make the time, overcome obstructive weather, and resist the excuses posited by family and work, as it was to actually keep enough air in my lungs and strength in my legs to run for hours on end.  Whether it was from a Walkman-type device borrowed from a friend or music played at local races I ran to build up my training miles, when I heard “Chariots of Fire” my entire body reacted.  Yes, chills first, followed by a natural euphoria that enabled a feeling of increased energy, stamina, joy, and a psychological boost that seemingly reinforced my ability to overcome the effects of lactic acid build up in my muscles and to believe that I could run faster and longer than ever.  This “frisson” like a powerful drug injected into my body, took effect immediately.  Even though I no longer run (does a quick shuffle to the bathroom at 2:00 am count as running?), the remnants of that feeling still resonate when I hear that music.

As I read Wal’s post and thought about the components of frisson I was reminded of an experience from my past. Years ago, as I considered a career change, I sought advice from my former assistant superintendent for an interview for a principalship in another district.  After a detailed, comprehensive, and helpful but rather predictable mock interview session with him, he leaned forward and said, above all, read the faces and body language of those around the table asking you questions.  If you see them fading, loosing interest and sitting back in their chairs, do or say something to regain their attention!  I don’t care if you have to drop your pants.  Just make sure they are intrigued and will remember you. Although I told him, after the interview and with a straight face, that I had literally taken his advice, (I didn’t, of course) I did follow the notion that I needed to do something different to create a kind of surprise if you will. On two occasions during the interview, I intentionally increased the pace of my response and elevated the volume of my voice to accentuate something I was passionate about.  I was hoping that this change during a rather routine and predictable process would illicit a reaction in the listeners that was to my advantage. 

While technically not “frisson” this strategy of creating a sudden shift in sound that causes a reaction in the listeners was, for me, somewhat related.  Now, if my actions would have given them shivers and chills, I might have made an even better case for the connection!  But, alas, my success was limited to keeping them from falling asleep, so I’ll have to submit this line of reasoning as a feeble but sincere attempt. I really appreciate people like Wal, and Wal in particular, for bringing new words, and ideas, and meanings into my life.  In this case, it inspired me to look at the past in new and augmented ways.  It helps me consider and reconsider how to apply those refreshed perspectives to my present existence and, perhaps, better adapt to my remaining future.

“Music is what feelings sound like.”  Author Unknown