Imagine an X Factor contestant taking to the stage, introducing himself to the judges, opening his mouth – and screaming. This would not be unsurprising given the presence of Simon Cowell; yet it would be at odds with music’s general tendency towards pleasantness, or at least orderliness. However, the scream – deeply rooted as it is in primal experiences of mortal danger – is one of the most potent auditory communicators, and this is why it lends itself well to a variety of musical styles (and not just “screamo”). This emotional basis also explains why the sound of fingernails on a blackboard resonates so violently with the human psyche. Similarly, if you ever wake up in the middle of the night as people in the next room are watching Psycho on top volume, you’ll get the feeling that not all has gone according to plan for the lady in the shower…
The scream, an explosion of emotion which words and articulation just can’t match, is incited by all kinds of causes – consider for example the excited ululations and yelps typical of folk music at a barn dance. The shouts and whoops stem from humankind’s love for ritualistic expressions of sheer energy (not to mention the effects of alcohol). The founding fathers of rock ‘n’ roll progressed (regressed?) from excited yelps to ecstatic screams: Little Richard’s short bursts of vocal violence on “Keep A-Knockin” are used to introduce saxophone solos, cymbal-bashing, and carnage on the dancefloor. His trademark vocal drop-offs resemble Michael Jackson’s signature “Owww!” – both are instances of the scream expressing the unbridled joy of rhythmic music. Led Zeppelin took the scream a step further, using it to express eroticism. As he sings “Whole Lotta Love”, Robert Plant’s crude posturing leaves little to the imagination: he builds from moans and groans to a full-on sustained roar, in front of an audience of free-lovers.
In Western Classical music, the scream is noticeably less common; its function is instead assumed by abrupt increases in the singer’s pitch and dynamics (as demonstrated by Pavarotti’s belting top note in “Nessun Dorma”). Its unique rawness is more strongly associated with modern composers such as Schoenberg, whose collection of songs Pierrot Lunaire is definitely not music to wake up to. The singing pitch is only approximated, and interspersed with episodes of jarring “Sprechgesang”, or “speech-singing” (a self-explanatory term). This feature, combined with volatile variations in dynamics and pitch, and a disregard for pretty tunes and harmonies, gives the singer the freedom to express through scream-like sounds the nightmarish world of the songs’ protagonist, Pierrot the Clown.
Far from being the mainstay of the twentieth-century “screamo” band, the scream is a tool for the musical expression of emotion at its limits; unleashed before it can be shaped by melody, lyric or articulation. Fear, energy, eroticism, the unconscious, madness, rage, Simon Cowell – sometimes, all you can do is twist and shout.
