I remember the first time I heard The Residents. Nothing could have prepared me for such a unique onslaught of noises (most of which were initially unpleasing to my ears). And yet, something told me to continue listening past the point of wanting to tap out — I guess I had faith that it would all make sense at some point. It eventually did, but in order to reach that level my musical orientation needed a complete repositioning.

It recently occurred to me that most of the music I have come to love presented with a rather steep learning curve. Frank Zappa and Mr. Bungle come to mind, both of which produced sounds that were simply not very welcoming to new listeners. In fact, in relation to Zappa, one Redditor summarized the listener’s response cycle for each album, broken up into four stages:

Stage 1: What is this shit?
Stage 2: I mean i can understand that he wanted to experiment and all but come on!
Stage 3: There’s one or two good songs on it.
Stage 4: THIS IS MY FAVORITE FRANK ZAPPA ALBUM.

Of course, there are two sides to this coin. By creating sounds so far outside the bounds of what our ears have been trained to consider quality music, the audience must be willing to adapt, which can feel like work. To some, the presence of this requirement renders the expression a selfish and egotistical act. For example, avante-garde jazz pianist Cecil Taylor has been quoted as saying “I prepare for my next concerts. The audience has to prepare.” This approach has angered at least a few in the jazz community, including saxophonist Branford Marsalis who responded:

That’s total self-indulgent bullshit as far as I’m concerned. I mean, you know, I love baseball. I mean, I’m not going to go and catch a hundred grounders before I go to a game. I mean, that’s what… we pay to see them do what they do and to appreciate them. I mean, why would the audience sit around and practice and prepare? I mean, they pay their money to hear what it is that we do and to appreciate what it is that we do.

Marsalis does make a valid point, particularly if we view music as a form of entertainment. When we consume a piece that adheres to a set of predetermined expectations, we can be sure to feel satisfied (so long as someone performs it well) — a simple exchange of money for services, if you will. This is one way of listening to music.

But, by contrast, true art does not concern itself with meeting expectations. If a music form becomes too rigid, some composers will be compelled to rebel against these arbitrary confines. The harsh reaction from those in “establishment” circles serves only to highlight that there is a real fear of unpredictability and change. It is interesting to note the reality that Jazz was, at one point, a rebellious form of expression. To that end, it is hard not to come off as somewhat hypocritical when criticizing those that seek to question the genre’s implicit rules. This isn’t to imply that everyone has to like avant-garde music, but carrying around the belief that these musicians are doing something wrong or hurting established music by merely expressing themselves is a bit reactionary.

Yes, taking the time to understand unconventional forms of expression can feel not-so-fun at times, but it needn’t be the only way one consumes music. We all need our fill of predictable (cliché even?) tunes to put on while relaxing, working or going for a walk. But, at least for me, devoting some time during the week to trying difficult music has been incredibly helpful in my own creative outlets, and has lead me to appreciate artists I would have otherwise written off.