Let’s start with this:

Your brain doesn’t hear music.
Your brain predicts music.

That’s not poetry — that’s biology.
According to neurobiologist Robert Sapolsky (whose 800-page epic Behave should be required reading for anyone who’s ever cried at a chord progression), the human brain is a layered chaos machine. It reacts to the world in tiers — from split-second reflexes to long-haul context you don’t even know you’re carrying.

And music? Music plugs into all of it at once.

The Brain Loves What It Knows — And What It Almost Knows

The reason you feel something during that key change, or the third beat drop, or when the drums come back in after a silent bar, is because your brain was expecting something — and got something just different enough to feel interesting.

Predictability is safety.
Surprise is reward.
Music, when done right, dials between the two like a serotonin volume knob.

You’re not just hearing rhythm. You’re processing motor patterns.
You’re not just feeling emotion. You’re comparing the sound to every other emotional memory stored in your prefrontal cortex — most of which were probably formed during adolescence (thanks, dopamine).

Sapolsky’s Big Point: Nothing Happens in a Vacuum

One of Behave’s most beautiful and maddening takeaways is this:

Nothing you do — nothing — is based solely on the moment you’re in.

You’re shaped by:

• What just happened 5 seconds ago

• What your stress levels were like last week

• What your parents taught you about sadness

• What species you evolved from 200,000 years ago

• And what kind of lunch you ate at 2pm today

So when you hear a song and get chills? That’s not magic. That’s your amygdala, hippocampus, and auditory cortex doing high-speed pattern recognition across your entire life, then releasing a cocktail of neurotransmitters for your trouble.

Why a C Major Chord Can Break You in Half

Your body doesn’t care if the song is “technically good.”
It cares how closely the sound mirrors your emotional blueprint.

Which is why:

• A song from high school will always hit harder than something technically better

• You can love a three-note melody more than a jazz solo

• And a track that “objectively slaps” can still leave you cold

Music is processed like a smell.
It’s spatial, involuntary, and deeply contextual. That synth pad might remind you of someone’s bedroom. That vocal filter might sound like the inside of a dream. That sub-bass might trigger fight-or-flight if you grew up next to a train station.

Your preferences aren’t taste.
They’re neurochemical autobiographies.

So What Do We Do With That?

You stop pretending musical taste is rational.

You stop arguing about “objectively better.”
You stop mocking people for crying at Coldplay or rewinding hyperpop until their brain buzzes.

And maybe — just maybe — you accept that music doesn’t hit you in your ears.
It hits you in your past.
And your hormones.
And your species.

Which, honestly? Makes every song feel a little bit sacred.