I’ve been thinking about the connection between health and music lately, especially after a conversation with a friend who mentioned something curious: they hadn’t cried in months. Their theory? Regular singing had provided a similar emotional release. Their voice, vibrating through their body, was doing what tears would otherwise do – creating pathways for emotion to escape, for pressure to release. 

We often separate our physical health from our emotional and social wellbeing, but music refuses to acknowledge these artificial boundaries. When we gather to sing in community choirs, our bodies release endorphins and oxytocin – hormones that reduce stress and increase bonding. The sense of belonging doesn’t just feel good; it translates to measurable health benefits, from improved immune function to reduced rates of depression. 

This healing power of music isn’t a modern discovery. Ancient cultures worldwide embedded medical knowledge within songs, passing down remedies through melodies and rhythms that were easier to remember than lists of instructions. These weren’t just memory aids – the songs themselves were considered medicine, with specific tones believed to resonate with and heal different parts of the body. 

Even beyond human-created music, we find healing sounds all around us. Have you ever noticed how the sound of water in a river or wind rustling through leaves can almost instantly lower your shoulders and slow your breathing? These natural soundscapes affect our nervous systems in profound ways, shifting us from states of alertness to calm reflection. When I’m overwhelmed, it helps to stand beneath trees on a breezy day or beside running water, letting the music recalibrate my system. 

Perhaps this deep connection shouldn’t surprise us. Our bodies themselves operate through rhythm – the steady beat of our hearts, the ebb and flow of our breath, the cycling of our sleep patterns, the monthly rhythms of menstruation. We are walking symphonies of biological tempos, our cells dancing to circadian rhythms, our hormones rising and falling in patterns. When these internal orchestrations fall out of sync, our health suffers. 

Music, with its organised patterns of sound and silence, speaks directly to these bodily rhythms. It can entrain our heartbeats, regulate our breathing, and even help restore disrupted sleep cycles. In hospital settings, music therapy has been shown to reduce pain perception and anxiety before surgical procedures. Among people with Parkinson’s disease, rhythmic auditory stimulation can improve gait and movement. 

There’s something almost magical about how these vibrations in the air can reach inside us and rearrange our biochemistry, connect us with others, and unlock memories that seemed lost. But it’s not magic – it’s science, it’s culture, it’s our shared humanity expressed through sound. 

As I write this, I’m listening to the subtle soundtrack of my own body – my breath, my heartbeat, the slight ringing in my ears, and remember that before I was ever conscious, I developed in the womb to the steady rhythm of my mum’s heart. Perhaps our love of music isn’t just cultural but biological; we are born from rhythm, sustained by rhythm, and healed by rhythm. 

The next time you find yourself humming a tune, singing in the shower, or simply pausing to listen to the birds outside your window, remember: you’re not just enjoying music – you’re engaging in one of humanity’s oldest health practices. You’re connecting to a lineage of healing that stretches back to our earliest ancestors and reaches forward to cutting-edge neuroscience. In a very real sense, you’re tuning your body’s instrument to play in harmony with the world around you.