By Louis Addeo-Weiss
For most of us, our initial memories associated with music consumption come by the way of our parents. Whether it’s driving in the car as a child to the sounds of Top 40 radio (which I had to endure as a youth), or hearing your parents play their favorite selection of music around the house, our exposure to the world of music is something we owe greatly to our parents.
As for me, car rides with my father introduced me to the sounds of Doctor Rob Walker, and George Kline who filled my ears with an influx of Elvis Presley (an early, rather seraphic force in my early years as a music listener), whereas oldies stations introduced me to early Beach Boys (1962-64), pre-psychedelic Beatles (1962-65), Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and a myriad of one hit wonders and now-Big Lots bin artists courtesy of the likes of Casey Kasem, Magic 102.7.
And at such a young age where the mind is rather impressionable, I tended to gravitate heavily towards times like these as it gave me the opportunity to further engage with my father over his affinity for many of the names listed above, but time would soon stray me in other directions.
As great as these moments were and they’ll forever rank among the fondest memories in my life, as I grew older and my tastes evolved, I soon became transfixed on this idea of mainstream radio.
Though you and I shall forever remain indebted to pop radio, one can argue that the medium tends to primarily cater to the notion of ‘what’s what’ in popular music culture past and present, and with that comes the idea of formula.
As much as most music listeners hate to admit it, popular music has always abided by a formula, and different incarnations of that formula have been repeated ad-nauseam.
Whether it be the explosion of surf music in the 1960s with one-dimensional subject matter on the lines cars, girls, and the beach, or the capitalization on late 70s disco, where each song was accompanied by strings arrangements and funk guitars, or the modern trends we’ve seen in hip-hop’s transfixion with lo-fi production with its common mix of braggadocio, popular music is merely a process of rinse-repeat.
Now, that is not to say that music ventures off this path qualifies as experimental, as countless lesser-known artists have aimed at achieving the ‘pop formula,’ though just did to varying degrees of exposure and success. Use your local ‘SoundCloud rapper’ whose following fails to progress beyond his own city as a template for that thought.
Though the term itself is up to interpretation, true experimental music aims to set sail on the traditional boundaries established by record label executives and three-minute pop song.
One’s first exposure to something deemed “experimental” may draw a slew of puzzled looks, but if one looks closer, they may soon realize that music is deemed experimental for different reasons.
Take a song such as the Beach Boys opus, 1966’s “Good Vibrations.” While the familiarity of the Beach Boys’ harmonies, which many of us were exposed to through the likes of “Fun, Fun, Fun”, and “In My Room” on mainstream radio, “Good Vibrations” represents one of the mainstream’s first incorporations of the avant-garde, as the song’s ‘pocket symphony’ nature gives the impression of multiple songs crammed into one three-minute piece of songwriting genius.
The likes of Throbbing Gristle, CAN, Aphex Twin, and Radiohead may scare away new listeners, but one of experimental music’s true traits of shining glory is its mean at which it reflects the times, exposing new listeners to a time of art lost to the masses.
While “20 Jazz Funk Greats,” British act Throbbing Gristle’s 1978 masterwork of industrial noise, may not be something to put on while riding out to a party, the majesty of this record and much of the group’s catalogue is their focus on the weird.
Throbbing Gristle’s mission statement was to appeal to no one, an idea that would’ve been championed by Bob Dylan in 1965, and there’s a sense of fascination in that I find inescapable whenever I listen.
German krautrock band CAN emerged simultaneously with the burgeoning British progressive rock movement, a genre, while moving beyond conventional musical standards as most experimental artists do, still loosely and eventually wholly to the evolving ‘pop formula.’ (cough, cough, the Moody Blues circa “Your Wildest Dreams,”)
For a genre as critically heralded as krautrock was, mainstream spillover was few if anything, though artists such as musical shapeshifter David Bowie, who experienced the highest of rock-star highs in the early 1970s, would soon find himself living in Berlin working with the likes of Brian Eno and Robert Fripp, looked to draw from and emulate CAN and groups such as Neu! and electronic pioneers Kraftwerk, with his resulting work, 1977’s “Heroes” soon being heralded among his very best musical achievements.
For Bowie, someone who garnered a following as substantial as he did, to indulge his tastes into the underbelly of German experimental rock was something that echoes the transfixation of anarchy-infused punk rock and the ensuing post-punk movements that were springing up across England during this time.
As for Radiohead, a group no stranger to the public eye (just watch an MTV broadcast between 1993-96), their sipping from the experimental music fountain has been far more pronounced, yet met with vast acclaim, critically and commercially.
While a song like “Creep” will forever exude staying-power on commercial rock radio, Radiohead’s dissatisfaction with the ‘in’ crowd greatly informed their ensuing releases, giving us some of the more lauded musical works in recent memory.
The fact that a record such as 1997’s “OK Computer” did as well as it did commercially (est. 8 mil. copies sold) is one thing, but considering its left-field nature, as the group drew influence from the likes of Miles Davis, particularly his “Bitches Brew”-fusion era, Russian composer Krzysztof Penderecki, and “Pet Sounds”-era Beach Boys, and plunderphonics pioneer DJ Shadow, it only makes the records’ success that much more jarring.
As far more experimental as its successor “Kid A” was, where the group abandoned their guitar-rock sound to pursue lead singer Thom Yorke’s passion for minimalist electronica from the likes of Aphex Twin and Burial, “OK Computer” swiftly balanced the line between the avant-garde and the group’s pop sensibilities.
Take a song like “Paranoid Android,” the band’s six-and-a-half-minute triumph that’s equal parts “Bohemian Rhapsody” and “Happiness Is a Warm Gun.”
What continues to make “OK Computer,” as well as “Kid A” such enthralling listens more than two decades on is this aforementioned balance, reaffirming the notion established with “Good Vibrations” that experimental music doesn’t need to fully deviate from pop conventions.
On the other hand though, Captain Beefheart was working with a template soon to be rivaled by Throbbing Gristle, with his 1969 masterwork “Trout Mask Replica” serving as the ultimate indicator of this.
Beefheart, the stage name for Don Van Vilet, took American blues, R&B, and rock ‘n’ roll to craft a record devoid of structure.
“Trout Mask Replica,” which Rolling Stone ranked as the 60th Greatest Album of All-Time in 2012, is as much art rock as it is free jazz and avant-garde, as the album’s chaotic nature is personified by Beefheart and his Magic Band playing out of sync with each other.
As has already been written, experimental music doesn’t abide by traditional pop conventions, and Beefheart, whose childhood friendship with other avant-garde/experimental icon Frank Zappa was pivotal in his musical development, filling his work with wailing saxophones, schizophrenic drumming courtesy of John “Drumbo” French , and the manic guitar playing of Zoot Horn Rollo.
The record’s most instrumentally sound work, “Moonlight on Vermont,” still finds itself desolate in the realm of conventional song structure, as Rollo’s guitar soars past Drumbo’s jazz-infused drumming, making for four minutes of experimental bliss.
Say what you want about experimental music, whether you find it strange, absurd, or dadaist inspired, its varying movements prove to us that great music extends beyond the barometers of AM/FM radio.
