A Troublesome Noise

Hello, my name's Dan, and I like noise. More specifically, I like free improvised music: unplanned, spontaneous, unpredictable and, according to the late Derek Bailey (Sheffield-born guitar pioneer and champion of improvised music), offering 'more possibilities per cubic second than any genre'.

Most people don't share my love. Most people claim 'that's not music, it's noise!' Most people are incredulous that anyone would willingly submit themselves to such aural torture. And for this reason, I'm wary of even telling people about my band, The Tajalli Vortex. At heart, I'm a coward who can't even be bothered to engage in a bit of debate about something I love.

So why do I love it? And why should anyone love it? Well, I can explain it best by describing how I first discovered this music. In my teens, I was a fan of the band Gong. One day I bought the album New York Gong, and heard Bill Laswell's unique but incredibly funky bass playing for the first time. I started buying every Laswell record I could lay my hands on.

At some point, I acquired The Noise of Trouble by Laswell's Last Exit. I put it on the record player, and heard… half-an-hour of meaningless chaos. No funky basslines – just ugly, horrible, headache-inducing noise. I was disappointed, but also very puzzled. I knew this guy was an incredible musician. I had a huge amount of respect for everything else I'd heard from him. So why had he put out a whole album of crap noise? Fascinated, I put the record on again. For several weeks I would listen to it intently, but without pleasure, often two or three times in a row, trying to find some nugget of redeeming music within the harsh melée of sound.

Then one day a strange thing happened. Something clicked. I heard music, and it was more beautiful, complex and rewarding than anything I'd ever heard before.

That experience taught me a very valuable lesson: that which is worthwhile is not always easy. To paraphrase a famous advertising slogan, 'good things come to those who try'. Many people believe that the most important redeeming quality for a piece of music is that it be 'catchy': if it doesn't have an instant hook to pull you in and make you love it, then it's somehow second-rate. There's an element of this prejudice in all branches of the arts, but it seems to be strongest in music: few people would expect you to fall in love with a James Joyce novel or a Jackson Pollock painting without putting in a little effort, yet many people recognise that the rewards that come from contemplating Joyce or Pollock are deeper than those to be had from Jackie Collins or Jack Vettriano.

Free improv is challenging music, music that demands your full attention in order to be appreciated. Again, I think this is a good thing. We live in an age when muzak serves increasingly as a backdrop to all aspects of life. Whether you're shopping, doing the washing up, reading a book, operating heavy machinery… people increasingly feel a need to have a stream of music babbling on the borders of consciousness. I'm as guilty as anyone on this charge, but I can't help thinking that it devalues music: it makes us less capable of appreciating both complex music and, just as importantly, silence.

Free-improv bucks the trend. Free-improv is not elevator music. Free improv demands the devotion of 100% of your mind. And if you are able to give that, I think you'll find the results beneficial for your soul.

Dan Sumption