The reins back in my hands

We all have an idea of what music therapy is, right? Someone beats a tambourine or rattles a maraca and another is moved to share their feelings. I don’t doubt it happens, so if it works or has worked for you, that’s great. I read about it and knew it wasn’t for me. Because, this is about how I relate to and interact with music. It’s not about being a professional musician, but it is about making music to express yourself truthfully. Music coming from within, not being imposed from without.

I have made a career in music as a singer, songwriter and recording artist. I have played hundreds of live gigs in Europe and the US, including major festivals. A few years ago I became very ill with depression and my world shrank until I was doing almost nothing outside the home, aside from attending seemingly endless appointments with those charged with supporting me.

I went from an almost hermit-like existence to returning to life as a professional musician

I went through psychotherapy, online CBT, art therapy and a list of medications that made me ill. I became so sceptical. I snapped at anyone daring to mention music therapy, as nothing was making any difference. So I decided to do something for others, thinking it might at least distract me. I looked for music projects where I could use my skills and I found Raw Sounds, a weekly music project tailored to mental health service-users.

At Raw Sounds the staff are experienced professionals, qualified through a mix of training and lived experience. The focus is on making music collaboratively and empowering the participants. It facilitates writing, recording and playing music of all styles from reggae to rock, hip hop to house. The programme has been running free, weekly sessions in the community for nearly five years. Each 12-week term culminates in a live show, where participation is never mandatory but always encouraged.

I was asked to become a participant to start with. I remember the first session was excruciating. I felt I was being ‘outed’, both as a mental health service-user and a music professional who had no business being there. I was so uncomfortable that I hardly spoke. But I kept going. Watching other participants, I realised I could actually be of service and offer the benefit of my experience. As the weeks passed, I began to relax.

I became a volunteer mentor quite quickly, and after about two years I was taken on as a paid member of staff. I had taught as a volunteer before, both in secondary school and with adults. I also have two teenagers and teaching is one of parenting’s unrecognised skills. I have since gained an entry-level qualification for teaching post-16, putting some theory behind the practice.

Teaching at Raw Sounds is like dealing with any musician – part frustration and aggravation, but mostly pure joy. The main thing is honest communication, which builds trust. This is key because self-expression, interaction, concentration and commitment are all a necessary part of making music.

For anyone who has been down the route of therapy of any sort, it is a road littered with the carcasses of ideas: new-fangled and traditional. No two people are alike or experience distress in the same way. This is why mental distress of any degree is so difficult to resolve. The traditional model of ‘one size fits all’ doesn’t fit anybody. It has certainly never fitted me.

With music, our responses run the gamut, from the most primal to an intellectual appreciation of a clever lyric or intricate arrangement. All of these are genuine and valid. But what it really means is music has the ability to stimulate a range of responses, some that we are aware of and can control, and others that we succumb to almost imperceptibly. And this is a good thing because it removes the possibility of self-screening – not something everyone does knowingly, but something we sometimes do to keep others at a distance.

When living with a mental illness, you feel your life is out of control, so any form of rigour you can establish gives the verisimilitude of the reins being back in your hands. Having a regular appointment with an opportunity to make music (your music) is hard to resist if it is an artform you love. Drinking deep from its well will not only refresh you, but also reanimate you.

During my time at Raw Sounds, I went from an almost hermit-like existence to returning to life as a professional musician – performing, recording and taking my first, tentative steps at writing new material. My progress did include some regression, but not being completely all right all the time is allowed.

At Raw Sounds, everyone is encouraged to perform what they have worked on. Daunting perhaps. But from my experience as a teacher, miraculous metamorphoses do occur. Someone initially unable to maintain eye contact steps on to a stage, gripping my hand tightly. Though terrified, as most people would be, they present their work. Pride, joy and fleeting moments of bolstered self-esteem are the fallout from the shared experience of performance. After even one term, improvement is perceptible. Music makes us feel better.

Did my participation lead me down a path of recovery that neither medication nor therapy could help me find? In the world of mental illness, there is rarely any proof of anything. At Raw Sounds participants are seen as musicians, not the labels assigned to them, and are given a platform for self-expression in a supportive environment.

But in the landscape of mental health services, there is still a way to go in tailoring individualised programmes and my conclusions are merely conjecture, inference and educated guesswork. However, my best guess is, it was a great help.

Rhoda Dakar is a musician, songwriter and volunteer/mentor at Raw Sounds.
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