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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Erdogan’s purge was too big and too organised to be a mere reaction to the failed coup

There is a specific word for the melancholy of Istanbul. The city is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. 

Even at the worst of times Istanbul is a beautiful city, and the Bosphorus is a remarkable stretch of sea. Turks get very irritated if you call it a river. They are right. The Bosphorus has a life and energy that a river could never equal. Spend five minutes watching the Bosphorus and you can understand why Orhan Pamuk, Turkey’s Nobel laureate for literature, became fixated by it as he grew up, tracking the movements of the ocean-going vessels, the warships and the freighters as they steamed between Asia and Europe.

I went to an Ottoman palace on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, waiting to interview the former prime minister Ahmet Davu­toglu. He was pushed out of office two months ago by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan when he appeared to be too wedded to the clauses in the Turkish constitution which say that the prime minister is the head of government and the president is a ceremonial head of state. Erdogan was happy with that when he was prime minister. But now he’s president, he wants to change the constitution. If Erdogan can win the vote in parliament he will, in effect, be rubber-stamping the reality he has created since he became president. In the days since the attempted coup, no one has had any doubt about who is the power in the land.

 

City of melancholy

The view from the Ottoman palace was magnificent. Beneath a luscious, pine-shaded garden an oil tanker plied its way towards the Black Sea. Small ferries dodged across the sea lanes. It was not, I hasten to add, Davutoglu’s private residence. It had just been borrowed, for the backdrop. But it reminded a Turkish friend of something she had heard once from the AKP, Erdogan’s ruling party: that they would not rest until they were living in the apartments with balconies and gardens overlooking the Bosphorus that had always been the preserve of the secular elite they wanted to replace.

Pamuk also writes about hüzün, the melancholy that afflicts the citizens of Istanbul. It comes, he says, from the city’s history and its decline, the foghorns on the Bosphorus, from tumbledown walls that have been ruins since the fall of the Byzantine empire, unemployed men in tea houses, covered women waiting for buses that never come, pelting rain and dark evenings: the city’s whole fabric and all the lives within it. “My starting point,” Pamuk wrote, “was the emotion that a child might feel while looking through a steamy window.”

Istanbul is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. In Pamuk’s work the citizens of Istanbul take a perverse pride in hüzün. No one in Istanbul, or elsewhere in Turkey, can draw comfort from what is happening now. Erdogan’s opponents wonder what kind of future they can have in his Turkey. I think I sensed it, too, in the triumphalist crowds of Erdogan supporters that have been gathering day after day since the coup was defeated.

 

Down with the generals

Erdogan’s opponents are not downcast because the coup failed; a big reason why it did was that it had no public support. Turks know way too much about the authoritarian ways of military rule to want it back. The melancholy is because Erdogan is using the coup to entrench himself even more deeply in power. The purge looks too far-reaching, too organised and too big to have been a quick reaction to the attempt on his power. Instead it seems to be a plan that was waiting to be used.

Turkey is a deeply unhappy country. It is hard to imagine now, but when the Arab uprisings happened in 2011 it seemed to be a model for the Middle East. It had elections and an economy that worked and grew. When I asked Davutoglu around that time whether there would be a new Ottoman sphere of influence for the 21st century, he smiled modestly, denied any such ambition and went on to explain that the 2011 uprisings were the true succession to the Ottoman empire. A century of European, and then American, domination was ending. It had been a false start in Middle Eastern history. Now it was back on track. The people of the region were deciding their futures, and perhaps Turkey would have a role, almost like a big brother.

Turkey’s position – straddling east and west, facing Europe and Asia – is the key to its history and its future. It could be, should be, a rock of stability in a desperately un­stable part of the world. But it isn’t, and that is a problem for all of us.

 

Contagion of war

The coup did not come out of a clear sky. Turkey was in deep crisis before the attempt was made. Part of the problem has come from Erdogan’s divisive policies. He has led the AKP to successive election victories since it first won in 2002. But the policies of his governments have not been inclusive. As long as his supporters are happy, the president seems unconcerned about the resentment and opposition he is generating on the other side of politics.

Perhaps that was inevitable. His mission, as a political Islamist, was to change the country, to end the power of secular elites, including the army, which had been dominant since Mustafa Kemal Atatürk created modern Turkey after the collapse of the Ottoman empire. And there is also the influence of chaos and war in the Middle East. Turkey has borders with Iraq and Syria, and is deeply involved in their wars. The borders do not stop the contagion of violence. Hundreds of people have died in the past year in bomb attacks in Turkish cities, some carried out by the jihadists of so-called Islamic State, and some sent by Kurdish separatists working under the PKK.

It is a horrible mix. Erdogan might be able to deal with it better if he had used the attempted coup to try to unite Turkey. All the parliamentary parties condemned it. But instead, he has turned the power of the state against his opponents. More rough times lie ahead.

Jeremy Bowen is the BBC’s Middle East editor. He tweets @bowenbbc

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue