Repetition as Novelty

Repetition breeds familiarity. Familiarity creates an opportunity for discovering more.

Back in the day of magnetic recorders, I made a cassette tape on a combination record-player-FM Radio-cassette player ensemble that had the same three-minute pop-song repeated 10 times for 30 minutes (for the record, it was “Sail on Sailor” by the Beach Boys”).

That was my first experiment with what could be revealed by repetition. In initial listening, the vocal melody was most prominent, as in most pop songs. After a while, I found it easier to listen to the background singers’ harmonization. Then, the guitar, the bass, the drums, the nature of the reverberance, and more and more subtle sonic attributes.

I really enjoy listening to music but find it hard to work to music because it attracts my attention so strongly. Repetition can serve to background the lyrical content, and free up the possibility of conceptual work without being entrapped by the content of the lyrics.

Right now, I am watching my daughter star as Matilda in the musical “Matilda”, a two-and-a-half-hour event. I’m going to all ten shows. The first time, I watched the leads. The second time, I had more attention for the secondary actors in a scene. The third time through, I became interested in the lighting. Each time through is an opportunity to notice a new aspect of the production.

When we experience an event, our attention is usually captured by the most prominent event. Repetition breeds familiarity with the prominent events. Familiarity creates a relaxation about paying attention to the nominally most prominent events, and so opens up an opportunity for discovering more.

Art hung on walls is often chosen from an intuitive sense that viewing the same work will reveal more on repetition, not merely become boring. I remember the stained-glass windows of my childhood synagogue: the lights shining through the cloudy colored glass was always fresh and fascinating.

I’ve lived in the same town for 15 years, and, before I started working solely from home, I worked in the downtown. The downtown area is about 12 blocks, a 3x4 grid, but is endlessly fascinating to walk through. There are seasons, a river (with varying tide and occasional minor wildlife), the changing of the stores, the people who are passing through on a given day, and companions who might accompany me as I am strolling through the space.

Sitting in meditation reveals the impossibility of true repetition. My mood is not the same from day to day. My body is not the same. The random environmental sounds vary. The temperature is always different. There is a wide variation in the precise amount of alertness I am experiencing (I often use no caffeine in a day, so variations in my alertness are prominent).

I love novelty…I will invariably try a new restaurant at least once if one opens in our area. Repetition, however, can force discovery. I recently ate at a restaurant in our downtown that hasn’t changed its menu in the 15 years I’ve eaten there — and discovered a new joy on the menu I’d never tried before: a chicken-and-apple salad I had dismissed in my mind as uninteresting long ago. Turned out I adored it. Having seemingly exhausted all the options on a menu is also an opportunity to imagine a new dish that seems plausible to request as a “chef’s special”.

When I was younger, I was averse to boredom. Novelty was the key. As I grew older, and culture and technology changed, I found myself with an embarrassment of riches: the entire world of music, movies, and books became available. I could now travel anywhere in the world. Just in the last few years, the idea of video chatting with people anywhere in the world became a reality for me.

What I have discovered, though, is that the world is inherently novel. What I called “novelty” was novel in its coarse aspects. But it is impossible to have the same experience twice. I understood that intellectually with respect to such art works as Alvin Lucier’s Music on a Long Thin Wire or watching an animated gif loop. Now, I consider myself glad to have discovered that novelty and freshness is inherent in experience — and “repeating the same-old thing again and again” may be the key to unlocking it!

Note: I wrote this piece listening to “Sail on Sailor” on playing on endless repeat. Still a great song!