Songs as Time Machines

Janpha Thadphoothon

I have spent my time lately in a state of quiet joy, largely thanks to the digital window provided by the internet—specifically YouTube. I find myself returning to a few specific melodies: "Luka" by Suzanne Vega, and the soulful voice of Boris Gardiner, who has become a particular favorite of mine. I also like to listen to other songs and music, of course. (Note - I cannot sing!)

A Portal to 1987

Music is perhaps the only functional time machine we possess. When I hear Boris Gardiner’s "I Wanna Wake Up With You" or "You’re Everything to Me," the present moment fades away. I am instantly transported back to 1987, living as an exchange student in Tauranga, New Zealand. Indeed, music has the power to take us to other time periods and places.

In those moments of homesickness, Boris’s voice was a bridge between my world in Thailand and my new life with my Kiwi host family. It is incredible how a few chords can recreate the exact atmosphere of a room or the crisp air of a New Zealand morning from decades ago.

Can Music Travel Forward?

We know music takes us back, but can it take us to the future? I believe it can. Listening to certain songs invokes an imagination that allows us to reinterpret our current environment and project our hopes forward. Music reshapes our interiority, prompting us to envision the lives we have yet to lead.

The Science and the Art

Throughout history, music has been the primary tool for moving the human mind. We see it in national anthems that stir pride, the horns that signaled ancient battles, the somber tones of a funeral, or the rhythmic chanting of Buddhist monks. It seems to be a built-in element of our biological organism.

I am not a musician myself. I took only one course during my college years—Music Appreciation—and I walked away believing that music is 50% science and 50% something else we simply call Art.

The Mystery of Mind and Matter

This brings me to a deeper mystery often pondered by physicists like Brian Greene: the nature of the universe and our place in it. Greene often reflects on how we are collections of atoms governed by the laws of physics. There is a profound wonder in the idea that mindless particles, forged in the hearts of distant stars, can arrange themselves into a human body capable of "feeling."

How do vibrating air molecules strike the eardrum and transform into the subjective experience of nostalgia or heartache? This is the miracle of emergent consciousness. We are, essentially, "bags of atoms" that have somehow learned to weep when a beautiful song plays.

The Mystery of the Creative Spark

As I write this, my favorite tracks are playing in the background. There is a persistent mystery in how music enhances our motivation and fuels the drive to create. It provides a spark of joy that makes the labor of writing feel like play. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

A Final Thought on AI

As I explore the evolution of ELT and the rise of AI agents, I cannot help but wonder: Can an AI eventually enjoy music the way a human does?

If consciousness emerges from the complex arrangement of atoms in a human, could a different kind of subjective experience emerge from the arrangement of code and silicon? Perhaps one day, an AI won't just "process" a song to identify its tempo or key, but will actually feel the weight of a memory. Until then, the ability to let a song break your heart and then heal it remains a uniquely human privilege.

Author's Note: This post was written by a human and polished by AI. While the AI helped smooth the wording, the "Art"—the memories of 1987, the choice of music, and the wonder about our place in the universe—is 100% human.