Could melody analysis spot the bum notes in our brain patterns?

Music in the brain.

The culmination of Steven Spielberg's 1977 classic Close Encounters of the Third Kind gave us one of the great moments in sci-fi movie history. It starts with a simple, unforgettable five-note melody – the musical phrase used by US government scientists in an attempt to communicate with a huge UFO that has just descended on the rocky Wyoming countryside. There's a hushed pause as the last note drifts in the night air, followed by a deafening blast as the alien vessel gives its rumbling response. Before we know it, the two parties are bouncing arpeggios off one another; a beautiful, joyful symphonic conversation.

As well as providing a wondrously optimistic antidote to the end-of-days mentality of today's chrome-plated alien blockbusters, that final sequence perfectly articulates the idea of melody as a universal language, one that might be used to explore previously unfathomable mysteries.

In many ways, the human brain is almost as alien to us as the extraterrestrial visitors of Close Encounters. Our relationship with our brains is a little like the relationship most of us have with our PCs – we use them intuitively and we understand the surface processes, but we've only the most basic understanding of how everything works under the hood.

With researchers still struggling to get to grips with the brain's inner workings, the treatment or management of an incredibly varied disorder like epilepsy remains an uphill struggle for medical institutions. One of the keys to better management of epilepsy is the ability to forecast impending seizures, the disorder's main cause of death. Clinical studies in this area predominantly focus on the use of electroencephalogram (EEG) data, which records the brain's electrical activity, but the difficulty involved in accurately interpreting this data is a recurring problem.    

A just-launched European research project, spearheaded by the Italian Association for the Research on Brain and Spinal Cord Diseases (ARCEM), aims to prove that the universal language of melody could provide a solution to this problem. The project has pulled together neuroscientists, IT specialists, musicians and music analysts in an attempt to predict impending seizures using a method called data sonification.

Data sonification is the process of expressing visual data, like EEG read-outs, in the form of melodies. The project is investigating whether tying EEG data sets to musical melodies could help researchers, and eventually doctors, to spot the abnormal brain activity that prefaces a possible seizure.

What advantages does turning EEG data into melody streams bring over the current methods of studying visual brain pattern data to predict epileptic seizures? According to the project team, turning visual data into audio melodies could help researchers to sequence and conceptualise the brain's activity over time, increasing the possibility of catching the hidden signs that could signal a seizure. These signs would be expressed as an abnormal or jarring sound in the melody, essentially turning seizure prediction into a clinical search for a bum note.

Data sonification also brings a more human advantage – our intrinsic ability to spot the off-key note in a melody. The ear is naturally attuned to audio patterns and detecting irregularities within them. The project team believes that expressing EEG data musically could help doctors and researchers identify seizure-indicative anomalies more easily than looking at graphs and read-outs.

Unfortunately, it'll be a while before we find out if this intriguing approach will bear fruit in the field of epileptology. The project has only just begun to gather the huge volumes of EEG data needed to validate the data sonification technique; the team hopes to present some preliminary results by the end of 2013.  

Although it's too early to prove the effectiveness of data sonification for predicting seizures, there's something beautiful about the idea that music, the universal language, might hold the key to furthering our understanding, not of visitors from another planet, but of the inner recesses of our own minds. Spielberg would be proud.

Link to full feature: http://www.hospitalmanagement.net/features/featuretuned-in-tracking-epilepsy-melody-analysis-neurology/

Photograph: Getty Images

 

Chris Lo is a senior technology writer for the NRI Digital network.

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What’s it like to be a human rights activist in post-Pussy Riot Russia?

It is five years since the feminist punk collective crashed Moscow’s Cathedral in a performance that got some of them jailed.

On 21 February 2012, five brightly-dressed members of Russian feminist punk collective Pussy Riot took to the alter of Moscow’s Cathedral of Christ the Saviour to protest links between the Russian Orthodox Church and its “chief saint” Russian President Vladimir Putin. “Virgin birth-giver of God, drive away Putin!” they shouted from beneath now-iconic balaclavas.

The “Punk Prayer” was both a political statement and a powerful feminist message. Six months later, a judge sentenced three of the girls to two years in prison (one was rapidly released) on a conspicuously apolitical conviction of “hooliganism motivated by religious hatred”.

These past five years, Russia’s involvement in crises in Syria and Ukraine has cast a dark shadow over relations with an increasingly cleaved-off West. The year 2015 saw opposition politician Boris Nemtsov murdered some 500 metres from the Kremlin walls.

Domestically, society has constricted people challenging the political status quo. However, low-key initiatives retain traction.

“Artists are simply silent,” says Russian curator and gallerist Marat Guelman, who left for Montenegro in early 2015. “It is better not to say anything about politics, it is better to bypass these issues.”

This is a major difference from five years ago. “Despite persecution against Pussy Riot, people were not afraid to defend them,” he says. “It was a better time.”

There are three topics artists and curators now avoid, says artist and feminist activist Mikaela. One is “homosexuality . . . especially if it involves adolescents”, she says, citing a 2015 exhibit about LGBT teens called “Be Yourself”. Authorities closed it and interrogated the galley owner. “Then the war in Ukraine,” she says. “Russian Orthodoxy is the third topic you cannot tackle.”

Marianna Muravyeva, a law professor at Moscow’s Higher School of Economics, says that aside from the government completely discarding human rights rhetoric, the most significant legal change is the “gay propaganda” law and “legislation against those who insult the feelings of believers”.

The latter came into force in July 2013. Since then, the Orthodox Church has made deeper societal incursions. Muravyeva says that the secular nature of the Soviet Union led to residual feelings of guilt towards the Church – and now it uses that “capital”.

Mikaela observes a “cultural expansion”, citing a new TV channel, radio station and three new churches in her neighbourhood alone.

Orthodox activist attacks on exhibits have increased. In August 2015, they targeted an exhibit at one of Moscow’s most prominent art galleries. Its perpetrators were found guilty of “petty hooliganism” and handed a 1,000 rouble fine (£14 by today’s rates).

“Any word written in Old Slavonic lettering is spirituality,” says Guelman. “Any work of art by a modern artist . . . depravity, sin, the impact of the West.”

Similar groups are active across Russia, and galleries err on the side of caution. Perpetrators, while self-organised, believe their actions to be state-sanctioned, says Muravyeva. They are influenced by “the kinds of messages” conveyed by the government. 

Nowadays, self-organisation is integral to artistic expression. Mikaela witnessed educational institutions and foreign foundations telling artists “we are with you”, “we know you are smart” but they cannot host political works for fear of closure. Not knowing where the “invisible line” lies foments uncertainty. “It’s self-censorship,” she says.

Dissident artist Petr Pavlensky, notorious for nailing his scrotum to the Red Square in late 2013 (“Fixation”) and setting fire to the doors of the FSB in 2015, advocates personal agency.

“Fixation” was about a sense of helplessness in Russia that must be overcome; he tried to convey the amount of power the castrated have. “Pavlensky says, ‘Look, I have even less than you’,” says Guelman. The artist and his partner Oksana Shalygina are now in France intending to seek asylum after sexual assault accusations.

Some rise to the opportunity, such as Daria Serenko. She rides the Moscow Metro carrying political posters as part of Tikhy Piket or “Silent Protest”. Her 12 February sign depicted a girl with her head in her arms inundated by the comments received if a women alleges rape (“she was probably drunk”, “what was she wearing?”).

However, as a lone individual in a public space, she experienced hostility. “Men, as always, laughed,” she posted on Facebook afterwards. Earlier this month an anonymous group pasted painted plants accompanied by anti-domestic violence messages around Omsk, southwestern Siberia.

Their appearance corresponded with Putin signing legislation on 7 February decriminalising domestic abuse that causes “minor harm”. While it doesn’t specifically mention women, Muravyeva says that the message “women can manage on their own” is a “disaster”.

On 27 January, after Russia’s parliament passed the final draft, pro-Kremlin tabloid Life released a video (“He Beats You Because He Loves You”) showing how to inflict pain without leaving a mark.

Heightened social awareness is aided by online networks. Since “Punk Prayer”, the proportion of people using the internet in Russia has exploded. In 2011, it was 33 per cent, while in 2016 it was 73 per cent, according annual Freedom House reports. Authorities have concurrently exerted stronger controls over it, eg. targeting individual social media users through broadly-worded laws against “extremism”.

Last July, the hashtag #ЯНеБоюсьСказать (“#IamNotAfraidtoSay”) went viral. Women documented experiences of sexual violence. Russian organisation Сёстры (“Sisters”), which helps survivors receive psychological support, receives “250-350” crisis calls annually.

“Over the past year, the number of applications increased,” because of the hashtag, it says. New media platforms Meduza and Wonderzine also emerged as more “socially aware” outlets. Previously “all we had was LiveJournal communities,” Mikaela says.

Bottom-up challenges are partially due to a generational shift. “Nobody bothered before,” says Muravyeva. “Those children who were born after ‘95 . . . they were already born in a very free society – they don’t know what it is to be afraid, they don’t know what it is to be self-censoring, what it is to be really scared of the state.”

Aliide Naylor is a British journalist and former Arts and Ideas Editor of The Moscow Times.

> Now read Anoosh Chakelian’s interview with Nadya Tolokonnikova of Pussy Riot