Resonant Frequencies

From biorhythms to body rhythms, these five songs by Eno, Wonder, and Guetta, among others, tap directly into the tempos of human life.

— BY WALDEN GREEN

Tempo is everywhere. Lydia Tár says that “time is the thing,” and she’s right: There’s no music without time. There’s also no us without it.

Biorhythms are the cycles regulated by our internal clock: Sleep and waking, body temperature, hormone release. But we’re also walking collections of bio–rhythms, that is to say, rhythms within our bodies. Your heartbeat, your breathing rate, the pace you walk at—each operates on a metronome that has to count just so, otherwise whole systems get thrown for a loop. Music can recalibrate those timers. It can amp us up when we’re feeling too lethargic, or calm us down when things are spinning out of control. With that in mind, I’ve collected five songs that each match a biologically meaningful BPM; from one college student to another, I’ve found they can offer some utility when our lives feel totally unregulated … which is often.

0 Beats per Minute: “Meditation No. 1” by Laraaji and Brian Eno

Snagged on a technicality! So a BPM of zero is technically impossible, but it feels pretty mundane to pin a tempo on this sprawling meditation courtesy of (my fave three–letter crossword answer) Brian Eno and new age forefather Laraaji. On this cut from the duo’s Ambient 3: Day of Radiance, ribbons of Laraaji’s electric zither trail across the endless expanse of Eno’s ambient vista. If there’s an internal rhythm they’re tapping into here, it’s probably closer to our circadian cycles of wakefulness and sleep, or the normal human breathing rate, which hovers right around 12 to 16 breaths per minute. That’s too slow to match any song with an actual beat, but perfectly attuned to the gentle ebb and flow of “Meditation No. 1.” Obviously great for doing yoga as well.

60 Beats per Minute: “I’ve Never Been in Love Before” by Chet Baker

What does heartbreak sound like? In technical terms, you start running the risk of bradycardia once you dip below 60 heartbeats a minute. For those of us who take things less literally, we have Chet Baker.

Ask me what it sounds like to be a boy and down bad, and I’ll tell you Chet Baker Sings. No more so than on “I’ve Never Been in Love Before,” which toes the line of cardiac arrest by shuffling along at a languid 60 BPM. Bradycardic people might experience dizziness, weakness, and shortness of breath. Chet’s “full of foolish song and out my song must pour,” asking the object of his affection to “forgive this helpless haze I’m in.” After a while, it might be hard to tell the difference.

80 Beats per Minute: “Teardrop” by Massive Attack

Not only does “Teardrop” hover right around the average human heart rate; there’s an actual human heartbeat buried in the song’s mix. Listen past the crackling vinyl hiss and Elizabeth Fraser’s crystalline melodies, and you can pick up on the persistent “lub–dub,” so close to the one pulsing in your chest that at first, it’s hard to tell where it’s coming from. There’s a profoundly calming aura to this single from Massive Attack’s Mezzanine, but a primordial kind, an eerie kind. Sort of a sonic return to the womb, that impression is furthered by the in utero imagery of “Teardrop”’s classic music video. Everyone wants to return to the womb now and again, and this is a safe space to be open about that.

100 Beats per Minute: “As” by Stevie Wonder

Songs In The Key of Life—it’s hard to think of an album that more earns a spot on this list from just its title. The thing about Stevie Wonder is that there’s hardly an occasion his music isn’t well suited for, but Songs has the power to soundtrack a reinvigorating walk like no other. Mundane, I know, but bear with me. The record’s peak comes along with “As,” which is a) an epic love song all about transcending time itself and b) a cool 100 BPM pacesetter for a brisk, uptempo stroll. 100 beats per minute is also what we call the “‘Stayin’ Alive’ tempo,” which means this is another option to add to your CPR repertoire. Although I hope y’all aren’t thinking about what tunes to throw on before starting chest compressions.

130 Beats per Minute: “When Love Takes Over”

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David Guetta feat. Kelly Rowland

Being a David Guetta apologist, it’s not often I get to feel vindicated. And yet, whenever I begin to lose faith in the power of his ego–obliterating bangers, this track reminds me.

“When Love Takes Over” hovers right around 130 beats per minute, which I’m told by Zac Efron in We Are Your Friends—a movie I’m obsessed with but have not seen—is the optimal tempo for getting people out of their heads and into their bodies. The best dance music rides the tension between where the beat falls and where you expect it to fall, and Guetta is a master of that push and pull, stacking his side–chained four–on–the–floor against techno synth pulses to dizzying effect. Kelly Rowland is the star here, though; her rhapsodic house diva turn urges every reveler to sync up and sweat out the sorrow in unison. k

Graphics: Wei–An Jin ome individuals have comfort people while some have comfort blankets. Others, though, have comfort TV shows. Comfort shows—with their specific storylines, immersive worlds, and fictional charac - ters that we grow to know so deeply— as a type of emotional support aren’t a foreign concept, but they’re arguably more important now than ever before, given the current climate of the world.

These parasocial relationships we're able to build with characters in TV shows influence us to think these characters are our real friends. That, in and of itself, can be comforting—especially if someone is feeling isolated or lonely. Looking at comfort shows through the lens of the COVID–19 pandemic sheds a whole new light on their usefulness and necessity.

Many things make comfort shows, well, comforting. Series that viewers have seen at least a couple of times before provide a sense of calmness in rewatching over and over again, as the show becomes predictable and thus gives an illusion of control over the storyline. These aspects of predictability and control are essential when thinking about the state of the world today. There's quite a bit of uncertainty, to say the least. Comfort shows, alternatively, give viewers the opportunity to immerse themselves in a universe where they know exactly what will happen. The storylines in the shows never change, no matter how many times you watch them, so there won’t be any surprises.

Another aspect to highlight is the ability certain TV shows have to help the viewer trivialize their own problems and feel better about their own lives. In other words, they’re forced to put their own lives into perspective and reflect on their own reality. This is especially true of shows like Grey’s Anatomy , where catastrophe and earth shattering disaster seem to be at the forefront of each and every episode. Many Penn students cite Grey’s Anatomy as one of their comfort shows—perhaps it’s because the extreme and horrific events portrayed in the show allow the viewer to realize that their problems aren’t as bad as they could be.

On the other hand, sometimes shows are comforting because they allow the viewer to be transported to another world entirely—a world that’s funny, happy, and a blissful distraction from their everyday lives. If someone is going through a difficult time in their life and they want to run away to a new world where things don’t feel as heavy, TV shows can provide that for them. This is why so many Penn students say their comfort shows include sitcoms such as Friends, The Office , and Parks and Recreation. ity has turned into something with the potential to be stressful given the fast–paced, pressure–filled world we live in today. There’s so much weighing on people’s minds all the time, and becoming overwhelmed and overstimulated is something that most people can relate to. Just the idea of starting a new TV show can seem daunting, so rewatching ones we have seen before reduces the cognitive load and gives our minds a chance to relax.

Additionally, shows can make people feel less lonely through the parasocial relationships viewers often build with fictional characters on–screen. One Penn student said that they love to put on shows like Gossip Girl (the original, of course) while they're doing their laundry or cleaning their room as a kind of background noise. It makes them feel like they have a friend in the room with them keeping them company. Also, people don’t feel like they have to fully mentally commit to such shows, because they've seen them before and know what happens. Instead, they can start and stop at any episode or season and know exactly what’s happening.

On top of this, they don’t feel like they need to put so much energy into paying attention to every single detail, which can take some of the pressure off of the viewing experience. It’s ironic that a leisure activ -

One student told me that their comfort show was New Girl . When asked why, she said, “It's my comfort show because it's dumb and it makes me laugh every time. I can pick it up or stop at any time and not get lost. I’m also never surprised or in suspense because I know what’s going to happen.” This answer represents so many of the things that comfort shows do for viewers. Yes, branching out and trying new things is good for you, but when it comes to peace of mind, sometimes leaning into the old and familiar can be just as good, if not better. ❋

The wide range of colors and types I’d see on walks through the mountains in North Georgia made it inevitable. Once I discovered Champignouf, a mushroom photo identification app, I was able to recognize the bright red Alice in Wonderland–esque toadstools as the fly agaric, and the seaweed–like, coral fungi emerging on the sides of the paths as ramaria. I was even known among my floormates for my mycology posters and mushroom throw pillows. It was only natural that I’d eventually become interested in psilocybin mushrooms (better known as magic mushrooms or shrooms), which contain a hallucinogenic compound that causes sensory distortion and feelings of euphoria. Some of my happiest memories from my first year involved weekend trips to the woods with my friends, lying on a picnic blanket while watching the leaves swirl in kaleidoscope patterns and the sloping tree trunks shift into brontosaurus necks. I would roll onto the grass and see my body grow roots into the ground. Time in nature has always been the best way for me to decompress, and shrooms are a part of this, helping me connect with the world around me and stay grounded amid the stressors of college life.

My positive experiences with shrooms only furthered my long term desire to eventually experiment with LSD. This interest was -piqued back in elementary school, when my mom explained to me that an LSD trip was the inspiration for the fantastical world in the Beatles song “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.” A friend’s reflection after his first acid trip solidified my intrigue: “With shrooms, you are the passenger. With acid, you are the driver.” When the opportunity to try acid finally arose, I seized it—and my trip both challenged me and taught me a lot about myself.

On a sunny and warm Friday morning, I slipped a tab under my tongue and headed over to a friend’s room, needing a mental reset after a long week of classes. About 45 minutes later, my mind began to lift away from the reality that my body was grounded in. The floor beneath me seemed to breathe, and I used my finger to draw designs in the shaggy carpet, watching them come to life in a myriad of holographic colors.

I put headphones in, turning on a classical playlist recommended by a friend. My sense of sound perception heightened to a level I had never experienced before; I was in a cave, and the orchestra was playing live, reverberating between the walls. While shrooms always feel very natural and organic to me, this was new. My mind was inside a computer that was programming a new reality for me. It was both unsettling and amazing.

Enthralled by the fractal world surrounding me, I suddenly caught a glimpse of a mirror in the corner of my friend’s room. One of the biggest things psychedelic experts warn new users against is looking in the mirror. Some explain that you may see a more honest version of yourself looking back—one that reveals truths you’re not ready to accept. But my curiosity overpowered me and what was to come was both the most anxiety–inducing and impactful moment of my trip.

As I approached the mirror, I saw an older version of myself peering back, flashing in and out with an image of my current self. My hair was shifting from blond to a mousy gray. My ponytail tucked out of sight, I saw my long hair begin to resemble my grandmother’s shorter cut. Wrinkles, splotches, and eye bags appeared on my face. It was jarring.

As I reflect back on that moment, it’s easy for me to realize why that version of myself was so horrifying. My anxieties around getting older have continuously gotten worse as I’ve progressed through college. My younger brother, now a first year in a school across the country, can no longer join my parents in their occasional trips to Philly to see me for dinner. I worry about how I will stay in touch with my friends once we graduate and spread out. The hustle culture at Penn doesn’t help. The constant pressure to pri- oritize my future and career over everything else can overwhelm me at times.

But the longer I looked at myself in the mirror, the more comfortable I became with the image of an older me. The smile lines around my mouth were no longer just a sign of passing time, but also of all the happiness that was to come. I realized I have a future ahead of me, bursting with children, grandchildren, nieces, and nephews with their whole lives spilling out before them. The end of the life and routine I’ve built for myself at Penn will come with new opportunities and the chance to do work that interests me (whatever that might look like). As I looked at my older reflection, I began to realize that amid my nerves, I’m also excited to start the next chapter of my life.

Eventually, my friend broke me out of my trance, tapping me on the shoulder and asking me if I wanted to take a walk outside while there was still daylight. We walked along the Schuylkill, the last glints of the sunlight reflected amber red on the water, bubbling and rotating in what looked like lava erupting out of a volcano. As the skyline began to light up, my mind connected each illuminated window into constellations. As we walked back to Franklin’s Table to pick up falafel, I couldn’t help but laugh. At that moment, life felt a lot less serious.

I woke up the next morning back in reality. But while my daily routine was the same, my mindset felt different. As I headed to Saxbys, the internship cover letters I was writing felt less daunting and more like the start of new opportunities.

I wouldn’t recommend an acid trip to everyone, and I certainly want to emphasize the importance of researching the risks that stem from LSD and the harm reduction tactics necessary to trip safely. Acid made me excited, euphoric, unsettled, anxious, and terrified all at once, but I also found it to be a much needed attitude adjustment. k