The power to transport

Professor Ellen McCreedy is a musician and gerontologist whose research harnesses the power of music to recall memories. Driven to give dementia sufferers, and their caregivers, a moment of having themselves back again, McCreedy joined Humans in Public Health to discuss her work, its challenges and the grandmother who first showed her music’s power to break through Alzheimer’s disease.

Over three million U.S. nursing home residents were diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease and related dementias (ADRD) between 2017 and 2019. As our population continues to age, and with the number of nursing home residents expected to double by 2050, the prevalence of ADRD is projected to rise significantly in the coming decades.

Ellen McCreedy, associate professor of health services, policy and practice at Brown, works to improve the lives of people with ADRD through an intervention called Personalized Music or “Music and Memory.” She is leading an ongoing study to test whether the music that residents enjoyed in their youth can reduce loneliness, isolation and neuropsychiatric symptoms like verbal and physical agitation that often accompany dementia.

On the latest episode of Humans in Public Health, Professor McCreedy discusses how music can transport us to times past and create moments of comfort and relief for people living with Alzheimer’s disease and related dementias. 

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Most of us can name a song that brings us back to a particular time or moment in our life. For Professor Ellen McCreedy, it’s “Use Somebody” by Kings of Leon. 

Ellen McCreedy: Whenever I hear it, I can imagine myself driving with it playing, just laughing and joking around with my friends. It reminds me of how carefree and silly we were—and I think that’s something most people can relate to.

Ellen says it doesn't matter where you are, or what you're doing, the moment that song comes on...

All of a sudden, you’re not just remembering a time in your life—you’re reliving it. You feel young again, full of life.

But Ellen says this isn't just a fun nostalgia trip, it's actually medically useful.

I'm trained as a health service researcher. I have my Ph.D. in public health and health service research, but my first degree was in music therapy and psychology. I play piano and guitar for therapy, and flute for myself.

Today, Ellen combines that music therapy background with her research, studying diseases that affect elderly patients.

I do older adult research or gerontology. I really started to see the power of music to transport people, to take people back in time like you're saying.

As a former music therapist and as a researcher today, do you have any idea what's going on in the brain when we hear this music? What's happening?

What we think is happening in the brain is a combination of things. Some exciting fMRI research shows that music learned and loved earlier in life—typically between the ages of 16 and 26, though there’s nothing magical about those exact numbers—is stored in specific brain regions that remain relatively preserved even in the later stages of dementia. By contrast, music learned later in life does not seem to be stored in these more resilient areas.

The other piece of this came out of research during the pandemic, and it’s very cool as well. I geek out when there’s a mechanism behind what so many of us intuitively feel is true. Studies on loneliness during that time found that for otherwise healthy adults, early preferred music—those favorite songs from high school, for example—reduced feelings of loneliness in a way that other types of music did not.

The goal of Ellen's work isn't to cure dementia with music, or even slow it down. Instead, it's to ease the difficult symptoms that often come along with the disease.

People who live with dementia experience neuropsychiatric symptoms, one of which is agitation. In a long-term care facility, someone comes to help change my clothes and I’m startled. I don't remember; I don't know that someone’s supposed to be interacting with me, and I might try to bat them away with my hands or my feet. Those behaviors then get other people agitated, especially in congregational living settings. If one person’s upset and starts calling out, then it can start to get other people upset and calling out.

Right now, the best option to treat that agitation is with medication.

And the medications that we have don't work too well. They also increase the risk of falls and death in people living with dementia. So there’s a real need in the clinical community to find a way to manage those behaviors safely and effectively.

That’s where music comes in.

Here's the idea: caregivers use the music that patients still remember at moments when they're about to become agitated.

The theory is that you’re disrupting the pattern of behavior enough that you don’t need those medications. And so it can be managed with something much more humane.

So, part of the idea is almost distracting them or interrupting the flow where they usually exhibit these behaviors?

Exactly. It is a distraction and hopefully it’s also reducing the loneliness that we think drives it.

Ellen says, when this approach is done right, it can really make a difference. That was the case for Bob Earnest, a dementia patient who was living in a nursing home in Lincoln, Nebraska.

He was experiencing these types of behaviors, particularly after lunch. And the staff was starting the program–the Music & Memory program is what they called it on the ground–and they thought that Mr. Earnest would be a great candidate. Now, one of the special things about Mr. Earnest is that he has a living spouse.

That meant there was someone who might know what kind of music he liked to listen to when he was young.

In many cases, there isn’t a living spouse to provide background information, but in this case there was—and she visited regularly. She told the staff that her husband had loved Merle Haggard when he was younger, which gave them a great starting point. As they learned more, they discovered that he had also been a musician. So, the staff sat Mr. Ernest down.

“ The NIH might say the biggest effect is the reduction in agitation, but on the human level, those moments are priceless. I think they are everything about why I do the work. ”

Ellen McCreedy Associate Professor of Health Services, Policy and Practice at the Brown University School of Public Health

They loaded up some music on an iPod. They plugged in a pair of headphones, and slowly put them on Mr. Earnest's ears.

And they gave him Merle Haggard. And he was listening for a little bit, got quiet and then started to air strum a guitar, and they were actually able to find a guitar and give it to him. It turns out, not only does he remember some of the chords on the guitar, but he’s able to sing some of the songs.

In later dementia, there’s not a lot of verbal communication left. So to be able to find not only the chords, but also the lyrics was certainly a gift to both the staff in the nursing home, and to his wife.

He did not need medications. They were able to use this effectively as a substitute in this case.

To the person living with dementia, it’s hard to quantify the biggest effect of the intervention. But for the caregivers, certainly it gives them moments of having the person that they love back. The NIH might say the biggest effect is the reduction in agitation, but on the human level, those moments are priceless. I think they are everything about why I do the work. 

It’s hard to measure the value of those moments, but they’re everything. What we’re really doing is giving people living with dementia a chance to feel like themselves again, even if just for a moment. Think about that feeling you get when you’re driving and a song comes on that suddenly takes you back—you light up inside. We’re trying to create those kinds of moments for people with advanced dementia, while also giving caregivers a chance to step out of ‘caregiver mode.’ In those moments, they can see their loved one—the person they married—shine through again. 

Ellen's research isn’t really about the science of what's going on in the brain, that part is pretty much settled. But she's been looking at the logistics – when to give people this music and how to make the process practical for nursing home staff. And that part is a lot more complicated.

The big caveat is, it has a short half-life. It works. In the moment, it works at reducing behaviors. Then you stop it and you see those behaviors start to go back up, almost immediately, within the half hour. It looks like they don’t go up to baseline levels, so that might be enough to reduce the acute need to use these medications, but they certainly go back up.

So the music makes a difference, but it doesn’t fully solve the agitation. And then, there's a lot of hurdles to actually getting music to people in the first place.

There are a lot of folks in our nursing homes who don’t have that loved one. They don't have someone visiting them regularly who can speak to their early preferences. And the staff in nursing homes are very overworked and underpaid.

So nursing home staff might have to guess, or go through trial and error until they find songs the patient remembers. Ellen said that on average, it takes two-and-a-half hours per patient to figure out what songs they like. But she's experimenting with new approaches that could help.

We just got a grant to look at technology that would help us personalize it. It would involve playing selections and looking at facial expressions to see which ones elicited a positive facial response and automatically adding those to your Spotify playlist. There’s also using a smartwatch—we call it a biometric wearable, but smartwatch—to see which songs get you more engaged or aroused and then putting those songs on your playlist.

The other big hurdle is timing these to early signs of agitation. Mostly these are happening when they’re not engaged: staff are doing other things that they need to be doing, so they’re not directly engaged, noticing the early signs before they become full blown, and then these interventions are less effective.

But nursing homes are finding creative ways to get music to their patients.

Sometimes that means a CNA has residents’ favorite songs saved on her phone and plays them as she goes about her daily rounds. Other times, it turns into ‘DJ hour,’ where everyone gets a song on the playlist and people are up dancing together. And sometimes it’s more personal, like with Mr. Earnest—someone sitting quietly with a resident, sharing a pair of headphones.

If your work is effective in 10 years, what will it look like to use music to help people with dementia?

I think this will look different depending on the setting and the community, and probably not at all like what I imagine. In some places it might involve robots or facial recognition technology. In others, it might simply be “DJ hour,” which can be just as effective as any high-tech solution.

My overall goal is to bring music to people living with dementia. Non-drug approaches like this can be very powerful—not only for managing symptoms, but also for giving people living with the disease glimpses of themselves, and giving their caregivers glimpses of the person they love. That’s my mission: to create those moments and back out of the way. 

Ellen’s work now focuses on getting treatment to people because she knows it makes a difference—not just from her research, but from her own life. Her grandmother, who later developed dementia, used to play the piano.

My grandma was an entertainer. We’re Irish Catholic, Chicago people. And she had a huge family and she played music. She had a Lowrey organ.

Her social life revolved around the church. She often hosted gatherings, and at some point in the evening she would sit down to play old Irish standards. Everyone would sing along, and she became the center of this universe. Most of my memories of her house are of sitting at the organ, trying to figure out those old songs.

So, when the dementia got really bad, Ellen sat down at the piano and played those old songs for her grandmother.

A big part of our connection was playing music together, listening to her sing, and finding a break from some of the hardest moments—a kind of distraction, as you mentioned earlier. It’s very painful to watch someone you love go through the difficult parts of this disease. There’s so much pain in it. But in those few minutes of playing, I could see her light up again—back at the party, the belle of the ball. It was great.