The Noise That Binds: How a Teen’s Merzbow Marathon Challenges Our Listening Habits
There’s something undeniably captivating about watching a teenager willingly subject himself to 400 albums of ear-splitting noise. Sam Andrews, an 18-year-old from Georgia, has become an internet sensation for his audacious quest to listen to every single album by Merzbow, the Japanese noise artist whose music is less melody and more sonic assault. But what makes this particularly fascinating is not just the absurdity of the task—it’s what it reveals about our relationship with music in the digital age.
Personally, I think Andrews’ journey is more than a quirky stunt. It’s a rebellion against the way streaming platforms and algorithms have trained us to consume music in bite-sized, easily digestible chunks. When was the last time you sat through an entire album, let alone 400 of them? Andrews’ dedication to Merzbow’s discography feels like a middle finger to the skip button, a reminder that music can still demand our full attention—even if it’s painful.
The Appeal of the Unlistenable
Merzbow’s music isn’t for everyone. It’s harsh, chaotic, and often downright unbearable. But that’s precisely why it’s so intriguing. Andrews describes his favorite album, Rainbow Electronics, as ‘intentional,’ which is a generous way of saying it sounds like a factory collapsing in slow motion. What many people don’t realize is that noise music isn’t about pleasure—it’s about provocation. It forces you to question why you listen to music in the first place. Is it for comfort? Escape? Or can it also be a challenge, a test of endurance?
From my perspective, Andrews’ project is a critique of how we’ve commodified music. In an era where Spotify’s ‘Discover Weekly’ tells us what to like, Merzbow’s 400 albums are a monument to artistic freedom. They defy the idea that music must be accessible or enjoyable. If you take a step back and think about it, this is what art should do: unsettle, provoke, and demand something from us.
The Nostalgia of Deep Listening
One thing that immediately stands out is Andrews’ old-school approach to music. He’s part of a dying breed of listeners who value albums over playlists, discographies over singles. His color-coded spreadsheet and meticulous reviews on Rate Your Music feel like relics from a bygone era. In a world where TikTok reduces songs to 15-second clips, his commitment to sitting through 10-hour noise albums is almost heroic.
This raises a deeper question: have we lost the art of deep listening? Andrews argues that noise music, despite its abrasiveness, can ‘do wonders for your attention span.’ I’m not convinced everyone needs to endure Merzbow to focus better, but his point is valid. The act of listening to something difficult—whether it’s noise, classical, or experimental jazz—requires patience and presence. It’s a skill we’re rapidly losing.
Noise as a Cultural Phenomenon
What this really suggests is that noise music isn’t just a niche genre—it’s a cultural barometer. Gen Z has co-opted Merzbow’s shock factor for memes, trolls, and cinematic TikToks. It’s become a tool for subversion, a way to disrupt the algorithm-driven monotony of mainstream content. But Andrews sees it differently. For him, noise is a form of resistance against the mind-numbing scroll of social media.
A detail that I find especially interesting is how Merzbow’s music has bridged generational gaps. Andrews’ audience is mostly in their 30s and 40s, people who remember discovering Merzbow in the 90s through underground networks. It’s a reminder that subcultures, no matter how obscure, have a way of persisting. Even if Merzbow’s Spotify numbers are modest, his impact is undeniable. As Andrews puts it, ‘Fifty to 100 years in the future, people will still probably talk about Pulse Demon.’
The Human Behind the Noise
What makes Andrews’ story so compelling is his humanity. He’s not just a noise enthusiast—he’s a teenager with a messy bedroom, a part-time job, and a passion for his Christian faith. His ability to find meaning in Merzbow’s chaos is a testament to the power of art to connect with people on a deeply personal level.
I’m struck by how Andrews’ friends and family react to his obsession. At a sleepover, one friend admitted to hearing ‘the silence afterwards’ after listening to Pulse Demon. It’s a beautiful reminder that even the most abrasive music can leave an imprint, a void that forces you to reflect. This is what art does at its best: it creates space for interpretation, even when it’s uncomfortable.
The Future of Listening
If there’s one takeaway from Andrews’ journey, it’s that music still has the power to challenge us—if we let it. In a world where algorithms prioritize familiarity over innovation, Merzbow’s 400 albums are a call to arms. They remind us that listening can be an act of defiance, a way to reclaim our attention from the endless stream of content.
Personally, I don’t think I’ll be diving into Merzbow’s discography anytime soon. But I admire Andrews’ courage to explore the unlistenable, to find beauty in the chaos. His project isn’t just about noise—it’s about the value of discomfort, the importance of patience, and the enduring power of art to provoke. If you take a step back and think about it, that’s something we could all use a little more of.
