Music, Alzheimer's and Glen Campbell

Glenn Campbell on his Farewell Tour in 2012
 

Glen Campbell walks onto the stage to a standing ovation and greets his audience. He launches into the first song of the set. He is 76 years old and has Alzheimer's Disease.

I've just finished watching I'll Be Me on Netflix. It's a documentary that he and his family authorised in order to raise awareness about this awful disease. It is heartbreaking, inspiring and at the same time it raises questions about the mysteries of that amazing organ, the human brain.

For my younger readers, Glen Campbell has sold 45 million records over 50 years. While country music isn't my favourite genre, some of his songs are just so much a part of the soundtrack of my life that I love to hear them. "Galveston" and "Wichita Lineman", and the later "Rhinestone Cowboy" just make me sing along- loudly. I have downloaded them onto my iPhone. So, I was interested to watch this documentary.

 

What I kept wondering was: how is it that he can't remember the names of his wife and children, yet he still sings just as well as he used to (with the aid of a teleprompter for the lyrics). And how the hell can he play those amazing guitar riffs. In what part of his brain is that music tucked away?

Glen and his daughter Ashley play Duelling Banjos

 

My Dad passed away from Alzheimer's Disease just over a year ago, so I have seen first hand how this form of dementia ravages even the most brilliant of brains, yet it leaves little pockets that sometimes empty themselves at the most unexpected moments. One day I was taking Dad on our regular Saturday drive, in the hope that it would stimulate his brain and some conversation. As we drove along Gold Creek Road at Brookfield, he started to sing. I didn't recognize the song, and the words were unintelligible, but there was a melody and rhythm that made it clear that this was a song that he remembered. I was flabbergasted.

 

A couple of weeks later, Mum and I visited Dad on the day that there was a concert for the residents at the nursing home. A small, neatly dressed man was brought in and came over to where Dad's recliner chair was parked. He spoke to me but I couldn't understand what he was saying, until his carer asked if we could move Dad's chair a little so the man could get to the piano. I obliged, and the man sat on the piano stool, placed his hands on the keys, and launched into the most amazing classical piece, played from memory. When he was finished, we all applauded, and he was led back to the secure dementia wing. He had been a concert pianist in Europe.

 

I couldn't help thinking about these incidents as I watched the documentary, and the decline of Glen Campbell. One of the lovely aspects of the concert footage was the presence of three of his children performing on stage with him, gently prompting him, improvising and loving him. When he forgot the words, the audience sang them and he picked up and continued. After 120 performances, it became clear to the family that it was time to stop.

Glen and his sons perform together in 2012

I will leave it to you to Google Glen's status today. He leaves a legacy of music that has become a part of the American, if not the world's, song book. He lobbied Congress to raise awareness about Alzheimer's, and every performance of his farewell tour did likewise. But it still leaves the question: how does the brain retain music, yet lose just about everything else? Perhaps one day we will have an answer. Perhaps one day, Alzheimer's Disease will be something that we only read about in text books.