Fiber

Much as I like to talk about myself and my awesome taste in music that happens to be way better than yours, I know how boring and unappetizing that would be for any given reader. But lucky for me that I’m such a trooper; you all get to read me make accusations based on my own listening habits extrapolated and projected onto everyone else. Thus, the gripe du jour: why geeks (read: me) feel compelled to get enough of what I shall call fiber in their musical diets.

You know fiber music - the stuff that’s good for you, that you, as a connoisseur are compelled to listen to even if the music lacks any hooks or a pretty melody or anything remotely enjoyable. Why do I keep listening to post-Confield Autechre, for instance. In case you don’t know what the unholy triumvirate of Confield, Draft 7.30 and Untilted sound like (What? You mean you don’t know?), then you might consider yourself fortunate. To massively reduce this music, it’s largely arrhythmic, without any melody, supposedly composed entirely by “algorithmic pattern generation techniques”. The words like “random” or “cacophonous” are usually thrown around to describe Autechre. Draft 7.30, all on its own, sometimes makes me want to claw my eyes out with paperclips. But, like the proverbial moth, I always come back to see if the next spin will open my eyes.

Of course, many other music listeners go through a similar travails - I’m sure - enough so that if they don’t “get” an artist, then they’ll doubt their own self-worth as a music geek. Instead, they’ll continue to torture themselves first for not being smart/cool/whatever enough to “get” Captain Beefheart or something similarly obtuse and then by continuing to listen to it in hopes of reaching that ever-elusive “Ah ha!” moment. Sometimes it’s worth it, but more often the amount of time invested in chasing “difficult” bands and albums far outweighs the miniscule amount of pleasure gained. This tendency is all part of the music geek ethos. The enjoyment of the music needs to be worked at, which is where the sense of reward and accomplishment come in. (Unfortunately, such a philosophy creates suspicion for anything whose quality is too evident, which is why pop music and its sweet, sweet melodies becomes verboten.)

More often than not, trying to get difficult music is the equivalent of musical asparagus. Confield is an aural enema, tough and fibrous enough to clean out my ears, and often my mind: I notice that I often stop what I’m doing so that I can think to myself: “What is this flotsam?” Of course, I catch myself quickly: “If I listen to this, I’ll grow up big and strong like Lenny Kravitz!” I like asparagus, but I had to learn to like it. And now my pee smells funny. Thank you Autechre!