How to craft a remarkable avant-garde piece of music.

Five foolproof recipes for fame

Since ever I started composing as a teenager, I wondered what 'good' avant-garde music is. Clearly not an easy question since we live in times when the sound of kitchen appliances has now attained the status of good art. Perhaps the persistent enigma surrounding what constitutes avant-garde music is rooted in our struggle to determine when it is good and when it is bad. So, what exactly makes music "good," and what defines a "good" avant-garde piece?

A straightforward response is that good music is simply the music I enjoy. Despite my years of studying avant-garde techniques, my preference for traditional musical forms remains unchanged (and I also stopped forcing myself to consider many experiments as truly brilliant art). In my view, much of avant-garde music falls short of being good art—a subjective perspective that aligns with the old-fashioned yet comforting idea that 'good' music is pleasing to the ear. One might rightly wonder what's with all the disdain? First, I find much of avant-garde music utterly silly and emotionally deserted, which isn't surprising given the avant-garde's firm rejection of traditional aesthetics. Take Boulez Sonata n°1, for example. Describing its aesthetic pleasure is akin to explaining color to the blind. More irritating is probably the fact that, like many established movements, it produces an undeniably large amount of bullshit ideas pretending to capture the Zeitgeist, yet remain mere anecdotes at best. You'd be astonished at the lengths avant-garde music goes to cloak itself in jargon, concealing a profound absence of artistic and aesthetic merit. We will delve deeper into this later.

But my own judgments and preferences alone cannot define the entirety of avant-garde music. Of course not. In the realm of taste, subjectivism is king, a point on which few would disagree.

The boring yet enduring debate among contemporary art enthusiasts often unfolds as follows: detractors criticize avant-garde music as ugly, insulting, incomprehensible, and emotionally flat, and falling short of all their aesthetic expectations. In contrast, proponents argue that such critiques miss the point entirely. The goal of avant-garde artists isn’t necessarily to delight the senses but to provoke thought, intellectual engagement, stir up different states of mind (in my case, perplexity is one of them), and challenge traditional aesthetics. Their work should be evaluated based on their artistic intentions and ideas—that is where the key to appreciating their art lies.

Post-WWII artistic movements certainly introduced something novel, yet endlessly debating these differences leads nowhere and participants talk past each other. I shall try a different approach. Avant-garde music indeed represents a departure from the norm, but let’s endeavor to understand its underlying principles. If an artist adheres to these principles, he must believe that they pave the way to good art and music. When a composer creates a piece that challenges conventional listening experiences, it's likely done in the pursuit of some artistic merit. But what exactly is this merit? What makes avant-garde music good? Let’s explore.

Surprisingly, there's a consensus within the avant-garde community on certain principles and beliefs that not only define good art but also have significantly influenced beyond their own circles. Now, for those steeped in the traditions of Bach, Beethoven, Wagner or Stravinsky, here's a quick primer on these avant-garde standards. I've done my homework, and although I have my own strong opinion on the subject, there is a vast literature on the topic. Indeed, the intellectual foundation of these rules is not as arbitrary as one might assume from their sonic output. But given my practical focus, you, dear composer, should be able to apply these rules with both skill and, hopefully, potential profit.

So let’s give the avant-gardists some credit and turn our attention to ideas and the reasons why and when works of art are ‘good’.

Recipe #1: Focus on ideas

This first, central principle, epitomized by conceptual art since the 1960s, has probably come to define public perceptions of contemporary artistic creations across all disciplines, something Roberta Smith reminds clearly:

Conceptual activity was united by an almost unanimous emphasis on language or on linguistically analogous systems, and by a conviction that language and ideas were the true essence of art, that visual experience and sensory delectation were secondary and inessential, if not downright mindless and immoral.¹

The emphasis on conceptual elements in music marks a significant change. While avant-garde music doesn't entirely sideline the sensory qualities of its production, it undeniably elevates the underlying conceptual ruminations. Enjoying the works of figures like Mozart, Beethoven, Stravinsky, or even Ligeti, however, doesn't demand any deep programmatic understanding of concepts. Their music doesn't require familiarity with profound thoughts—if such thoughts are even present. Does this imply that our measure of what’s good might be mere aesthetic enjoyment? 'It shouldn’t,' shouts the avant-gardist—'you are just an old romantic fool.' Again, it's thinking that’s expected, not goosebumps. And remember, if avant-garde music grates on your ears, heart, and soul, you’re likely missing the bigger picture—it’s the ideas and concepts that truly matter. Hence, consider tuning in more attentively to what the composer is trying to say, beyond the sounds he tried to put together.

Since the audience has a hard time to get even a sense of your subversive ideas through the music itself, it becomes crucial to articulate them rationally through other mediums beyond music—through conferences, interviews, and explanatory texts. In fact, this secondary medium, through which ideas and intentions are elucidated, is essential to avant-garde music—and perhaps to avant-garde art in general. Without these insights into what the composer truly intended, his music might face the deafening silence of an absent audience and risk being quickly forgotten. With this kind of support, the audience has the opportunity to turn what might first seem like mere noise into something truly meaningful.

It is imperative that ideas be effectively conveyed in one way or another. And here, my esteemed composer, fear not the embrace of clichés! In fact, they are part of the trick. Say that your work is pushing the boundaries of something, questioning its role, that it is a commentary and that you are endorsing a critical—even political—stance. Say it is also challenging, exploring, and, of course, deconstructing and breaking away from something established that your revolutionary act relegated to the past at once. Quite the impressive repertoire, I must say. Try using one of these expressions and you'll quickly become a famous artist.

So here it is: For you, dear reader, the first rule in crafting avant-garde music is to favor ideas over sound—more of a general principle than a recipe. Yet, this alone does not make you a master of your trade yet. Let us progress into what defines “good” avant-garde music. If we agree that the value of such music hinges more on its ideas than its melodies, our exploration must now address the question of what makes for good musical ideas.

Recipe #2: Reject the past.

A good musical idea is to reject the past. In the avant-garde's conceptual realm, the past is not just old-fashioned; it's often the enemy by definition. The past is not something to grow out of, it is something to reject as harshly and radically as possible. Avant-garde movements consistently emphasize casting aside tradition and previous norms as a foundational step. As Paul Griffiths puts it:

Separation from the past became an item of belief: every feature cherished in the great Western tradition was now to be abandoned, whether by destruction, in Boulez, by blithe disregard, in Cage, or by intensive searching elsewhere, in Stockhausen.²

I hear you already thinking loud, what is so obvious at a distance: Isn’t rejecting the past the very engine for artistic evolution? Throughout history, new movements have emerged by breaking, sometimes radically, from previous movements. Conflicts over artistic direction have occasionally heated up, reminiscent of the Querelle des Anciens et des Modernes in 17th-century France, where intellectuals debated the merits of classical Latin texts versus contemporary French literature. However, viewing the historical progression of music through such a quasi-dialectical lens might be more accurately described as the rise and fall of fashions in art.

Like the avant-garde, proponents of any prevailing fashion often ridicule those who don’t subscribe to the latest trends. But, is avant-garde merely another fleeting fashion?

Critics of the avant-garde might argue that, just as followers of a new fashion might scorn those unimpressed by their chosen style, the coexistence of different musical schools is marked by mutual ignorance and distance. Yet, the approach of militant avant-gardists has been markedly different, hasn't it? Consider Pierre Boulez, who not only challenged but actively disrupted traditional concerts. Boulez’s most notorious public declaration perhaps was his radical suggestion that all opera houses should be blown up, a vivid illustration of his desire to obliterate the old structures of musical thought and performance. Such actions go beyond mere theoretical advocacy for change; they demonstrate a physical and confrontational approach to rejecting the past.

This isn't just an attempt to ridicule but to censor traditional and older ways of making music. The self-perception of avant-gardists is often steeped in a sense of absolute historical necessity. They contend that all music must conform to the standards they set. This mindset is not merely prescriptive but verges on the doctrinaire. Historically, few if any other movements have sought to suppress the very expression of divergent artistic views so directly. Yet, despite such radical stances, these avant-garde attempts haven't been entirely successful.

Yet, this underscores a near existential urgency for avant-gardists to obliterate the past in order to carve out their own space and, beyond merely causing scandal, to secure their legacy. The actions of figures like Boulez and Cage signify more than just a bold critique of the past; they represent an aggressive strategy to dominate the cultural conversation about music. This approach raises compelling questions about the role of conflict in cultural evolution and whether such radical actions are necessary or even effective in fostering genuine artistic innovation. In the end, the avant-garde’s challenge to the past may serve less to establish a new order than to continually question the very notion of order itself in art.

This goes beyond just preferring a novel form or technique. This is more about rejecting all ingredients that characterized music before: tonality, rhythm, traditional forms, instrumentation, melody, all compositional techniques, etc. And remember, we are discussing ideas here. Achieving a sound that is unprecedented is not just commendable but essential in the avant-garde, where novelty is a measure of success. However, if your ideas clearly challenge past conventions, then you’ve made the grade. Dissonance remains dissonance, and the public may not only find it scandalous and distasteful—don’t blush, I am sure you once secretly wished for a scandal to launch your career— but also struggles to discern how your work differs from the radical movements that preceded you, for it is not just about rejecting poor old luminaries like Mozart and Beethoven.

Dear reader, in the avant-garde, if you're not confounding and confronting, you're not doing it right. Make history, and it will turn into Art!

Recipe #3: Always ask: what is music?

Simply rejecting the past isn't enough. Avant-garde music demands truly groundbreaking ideas. Here’s how to nail this: A solid musical idea is to interrogate the essence of music itself. Mere rejection of the past doesn’t cut it. Nor does merely questioning the art form you embrace suffice. Within modern composition, a pivotal theme has emerged—the philosophical exploration of music's defining characteristics, turning what might seem abstract into the central themes of creative expression. In the avant-garde, composers are not just writing music; they are posing fundamental questions about the very essence of what music can be. This philosophical inquiry challenges us to rethink our preconceived notions of musicality, prompting a deeper exploration of sound and silence alike. Clearly, music from that era stands distinctly apart from the rest of musical history. Anyone can ponder, be it through scientific analysis or esoteric contemplation, the nature of music. No law forbids it, and it seems to be the domain of philosophers and other abstract thinkers. Incorporating unconventional elements—be it ambient noises, unconventional instruments, or even the sounds of silence—serves as a direct challenge to traditional forms and practices, placing the question of what music is or could be at the heart of the composition process.

Allow me to clarify: Experiments were initiated to systematically challenge the conventional understanding of music. In that part of the world, the emblematic song is none other than John Cage's 4'33''! What an astonishing composition, my friends! A performance piece defined by 4 minutes and 33 seconds of utter silence. To all those who, fascinated, are poised to hail this as a stroke of genius, curb your enthusiasm and consider what Stephen Davis reminds us:

John Cage's 4' 33" (Ch. 1), a piece notorious for the fact that it instructs the musician not to play throughout its duration. On my view, if the contents of performances of Cage's piece are the sounds that otherwise would be ambient to those performances, which is the way Cage most often characterizes it, 4' 33" is not a musical work. Unlike many who aim at this conclusion, it is not part of my agenda to deny that Cage's piece is art. My concern, rather, is to discover where the limits of our concept of musical works lie. To this end, I argue that, whatever else they involve, musical works must establish or follow parameters such that sounds made outside those count as ambient. Cage's does not. It takes all sounds at its performances as their contents, leaving none to qualify as ambient. As art, 4' 33" is an important and interesting theatrical piece about music, not a musical work as such"³

Quite an intriguing choice, wouldn't you say? Although often described as "silent," one could argue that it is not truly devoid of sound, especially when the audience insists on coughing and shuffling about. And here comes the typical praise of the astute critic of that experiment: this piece compels us to view silence not as the absence of sound but as a canvas of auditory possibilities, where ambient noises become the music, urging us to rethink our definitions and expectations. Well, I must say the only real merit of this thing called 4’33’’ is that it gets talked about. It does undoubtedly challenge our definitions of art and the musical work. However, this is hardly an artistic merit. It's about as ludicrous as claiming that my childish graffiti challenges the City Cleaning Services who needs to clean and document my deed. What's the value of this challenge? If you’d ask me, there is strictly none; in the case of 4’33’’, probably just a very limited cognitive value, generating unnecessary words on the seemingly profound question of whether Cage’s piece should be considered a musical work of art.

As you can see, dear composer, the heuristic to satisfy this principle is simple. Contemplate all traditional and standard musical elements, select one, negate it or invert it, and compose your piece on that basis. It will lack something and clash with the audience’s (and critics’) conventional expectations. That’s it; you’re done and have accomplished an artistic feat. Why, you may wonder? Simply because your work, by altering an expected element (and make it a fundamental one, not just a chord, something deemed essential for sound to be qualified as music), is a way to “challenge our understanding” or “question the essence of music.” I am still marveled at the magical power of these phrases. Just mention them, and voilà, you have produced avant-garde music worth noting.

Recipe #4: Break conventions

Let's sum up the practical recommendations so far: focus on ideas, reject the past, and aim at questioning the very essence of what makes something a musical work of art. You know the pose to adopt, but let’s try to be a bit more practical, shall we? The best advice anyone can give you is that a good musical idea challenges conventions. This should be a goal in itself and a criterion to make your work not just art, but especially a good musical work. But hold on a second, isn’t that precisely the very movement of history? Breaking conventions is what has driven music to evolve since the dawn of time. Scholars would confirm—and irony aside—one cannot deny this:

Yet rebellion against established styles themselves has always triggered the most robust changes in musical style. For example, note the tremendous movement around 1600 away from the Flemish counterpoint tradition (and its obscured text) to accompanied solo songs with clearer settings – a shift that ultimately allowed the birth of opera and the Baroque period itself. Or, witness the early twentieth-century expansion of compositional approaches from (solely) tonal music to serial and other non-diatonic techniques, or the birth of rock and roll (an event so epic as to be always termed a 'birth').⁴

I claim, however, that the relationship to conventions and the departure from them is a very different business in the musical movements that appeared after 1945 compared to before. True, broken conventions are certainly essential and fascinating milestones in the progress of history. Forbidden chords started to be used, new instruments were introduced, forms were abandoned, and new ones invented. This is all part of the history of music, but these audacious changes never solely made a musical work of art good. Composers made good music quite irrespective of their conformity or lack thereof with norms. Avant-garde music, however, tells a different story. For cultural and sociological reasons that are not very clear to me, it considered the quest for radical novelty, and thus the impetus to break all possible and imaginable norms, a goal in itself, something that was clearly part of any good musical work. This is quite unique and, surprisingly enough, seems to have transformed the artist’s craft from a creative play with rules and conventions to an intellectual—almost sociological—scrutiny for any possible convention in order to break it. This was probably eagerly followed as it must have satisfied a strange desire of many artists, that of subversion. For, they would claim, conventions are always arbitrary and at best just the expression of some power structure that once declared that this form, this style, this technique, and these chords are good, artistically valuable.

To prove my point, here's a musical idea I once caressed in my teenage errances: music is conventionally produced with instruments and voices, but that’s merely a tradition, isn’t it? Consider a piece where musicians on stage produce the only sounds by hitting their bodies and the floor, and randomly please because it should be an improvised and aleatoric work of art. This challenges the norms of instrumental music, of its form, and tests the boundaries of traditional musical mediums. Easy and straightforward, I just scouted from some of the still accepted tenets of music. According to all previously listed recipes, it seems also to tick all the boxes. Is it good? It should be. However, to be truthful, I’d have to defend it with more gravitas and write about my idea, describe it, as mentioned before, in convoluted archetypical expressions. Declaring it as a interrogation about the essence of music, soemthing that should expand the range of our musical experience, and so on.

Let's circle back to some practical tips, since our aim is to offer tangible advice on crafting compelling avant-garde music. Here's an additional piece of advice on breaking conventions: introduce elements into your music that would be utterly unrecognizable as music to your parents, grandparents, and the general public. This method is straightforward yet radical: shake up conventional musical expectations with unexpected sounds, new instruments, creative playing techniques, or unique ways to engage the audience. There you have it—a blueprint for avant-garde success. And the real beauty of it? You don’t need to master the craft of composing something that traditionally sounds good or is universally exciting. Instead, your main objective is to disrupt norms and ensure the audience knows it, through words if necessary—because, let's face it, the audience can sometimes be blissfully unaware when it comes to understanding what the composer is trying to convey.

Recipe #5: Despise the audience

Creating something to please the audience is probably the most heretical move you can make in the avant-garde. Disregard them because they are people who seek only superficial pleasures and emotions. One extraordinary feat of the avant-garde is to have questioned commercial success and audience enthusiasm, on the pretense that it undermines the authenticity of the artist's creative work. Frankly speaking, this is probably the most scandalous principle as the other recipes have become somewhat of a cliché, leading to a fatigue of de-materialized art remaining meaningless despite the artist’s explanation. Nothing to worry about as Adorno would claim, because after all, they are only bourgeois!

Interestingly, within the avant-garde, what might typically be viewed as a failure—scandal and public outrage—often becomes a badge of honor. As previously stated, the audience's outrage is truly the holy grail; you may follow in Stravinsky's footsteps. The Rite of Spring resulted in a riot during the premiere. Don't tell me that shocking the bourgeois isn't one of your hidden desires. Isn’t it also quite enjoyable to watch the entire audience and what they represent feeling outraged?

This will certainly sound candid and silly, but I did many times during my creative teens reflect on what kind of musical work could make a scandal nowadays. A grand clash is every composer's goal. But since nowadays every norm and aspect of music has been challenged already, there seems little room left to apply avant-gardist principles. And the audience on the other hand has since also developed a certain fatigue. They aren’t as impressionable as they were before when it was truly new and have either turned their backs or respond now with a compassionate smile at best.

So what can scandalous music expect from its audience today? Probably just a reaction, whatever it is. Quite a pitiful concession isn’t it? And "reaction" is now so broadly defined that any possible audience stance becomes a sign of a successful art performance. However, ensure that you can use the skills of the psychanalyst to your advantage in this case. If the audience responds with perplexity? Good, you've triggered it. Rejoice in your achievement as audiences respond with perplexity, a testament to your newfound ability to turn confusion into an art form. It's an experience that differs greatly from the emotion of traditional music. You have exposed their senses and minds to new types of experiences. In this case, it was confusion. If they respond with indifference, at least they came—maybe they are serious connoisseurs. However, they may have had some thoughts about what they had just heard. And that is also good: you have offered them an intellectual experience. As you can see, anything can be turned into an appropriate response of the audience under the pretense that it is an experience, and possibly a new and different experience. This alone is enough to be vindicated by the audience.

The most difficult response to deal with as an avant-garde composer is laughter. From all possible audience reactions, laughter is the one that destroys the seriousness of your musical ideas and creations. It is a reaction that reduces the prestige of your work all at once. In this case, there is only one solution: bite your tongue, pretend you're happy and carry along the same line of argument: you expanded your scope of the audience’s experience. Laughing during a concert! Isn't that quite unique and new?

Ah, young composer, if you want to tread in the subversive footsteps of your predecessors, provoke and perplex, never aim to please! Chase scandal fiercely; if it eludes you, treat every reaction—even indifference—as a sign of success.

Avant-Garde is Pointless

In the world of avant-garde music, each composer's pursuit—from rejecting past norms to despising the traditional audience—is often portrayed not just as a valuable endeavor but as an absolute necessity. But stepping back, one must ask: does systematically challenging norms hold any intrinsic value as an artistic pursuit? And if not intrinsically valuable, what other merits do these avant-garde principles actually bring?

When we deeply explore the so-called recipes for avant-garde success, it becomes apparent that the ultimate goods, those elements that should ostensibly reconcile us with the avant-garde ethos, are conspicuously hollow. The principles that avant-garde holds up as exemplars of good art or the correct approach are absurd, empty, and at best, silly. Breaking from the norm cannot be a worthwhile pursuit in itself, and all its justifications are preposterous common-sense.

Unless of course, you can make something out of such justifications as: “expanding the range of our aesthetic experience”, “challenging the boundaries of the musical landscape”, or “forging new pathways in acoustic innovation”. For, what does it mean to expand the scope of our musical experience? Is there genuine value in transitioning from enjoying tonal harmonies to appreciating the noise of kitchen appliances as music? In what universe is such an expansion of experience a criterion of artistic merit?

It appears that each of these foolproof recipes for achieving avant-garde stardom, even those claiming to invoke universally accepted goods, merely reflect an arbitrary preference for subversion. However, upon closer examination, this pursuit reveals itself as a somewhat sad and pointless circus.

The avant-garde movement, while it has sparked significant discussions and its ideology influences so many musical movements, seems now to be fading away. As the radical thrill of subversion wanes, one wonders whether a return to more traditional, melodious forms could be on the horizon, marking not just a nostalgic revival but a meaningful reconnection with music’s core values. And perhaps are there conventions that aren’t merely arbitrary but rooted in the material flesh of our perception. A new classicism? Stay tuned for what may come next.

1. Smith, R. (1994). Conceptual Art. In N. Stangos (Ed.), Concepts of Modern Art (p. 260). London: Thames and Hudson.

2. Griffiths, P. (2010). Modern Music and After (3rd ed., p. 186). New York: Oxford University Press.

3. Davies, S. (2005). Themes in the Philosophy of Music. Oxford: Oxford University Press, USA. (p. 14).

4. Judkins, J. (2010). Rebellion against established styles. In T. Gracyk & A. Kania (Eds.), The Routledge Companion to Philosophy and Music (p. 136). New York: Routledge.