preferring complexity.
(This is probably me venturing into one of those odd recesses of my brain where nobody will be able to follow. That’s okay with me.)
I have lately discovered that there is a way of doing things that prefers complexity, and it is that preference for complexity that usually gets labelled as “weird.”
It started with reading. Something, somewhere, triggered a way of reading that moves “past the plot.” Books are no longer simply about what happen. Instead, they are transformed into vehicles for how the writer communicates what happens. The subterfuge becomes the focus. No longer is the question simply, “what happened?” A tally of who lives and who dies and where the money ended up is horribly insufficient. Instead, reading becomes a sort of game, puzzling out the motivations for stylistic choices, deciphering motivations, charting character dynamics, finding symbols. Perhaps it is because I’m an English major, and my grades depend on these sorts of things.
Perhaps has maturity has given me a preference for the complex. I start to notice it everywhere. Movies, like books, are no longer about the plot. There is a way, I am discovering, of watching past the plot. There is an analysis that goes deeper than simply what happens, who dies, who sleeps with whom, and where the money ends up.
Music, too, changes. While “past the plot” doesn’t hold true for songs, there is a way of listening that moves past simple catchy melodies and ingratiating hooks (while those still have their place). It starts to analyze stylistic choices, to dig into layers and layers of sound to view a song a vast composition. Sometimes it’s finding how the music serves as the vehicle for lyrics, sometimes it’s finding how the lyrics server as a vehicle for the music. Sometimes it’s songs that are beautiful enough to break your heart. Sometimes it’s songs that are so profane that they make you blush with embarrassment. They’re puzzles, with chords that never resolve themselves, frenetic energy that stresses you out, verdant textures that make you forget the passing of time.
It’s even made its way into other, odder, things. I’d rather drink a complex beer. While something simpler might suffice for sheer utility, and taste good. (Like Soulja Boy may be able to write a catchy melody, or Dan Brown an engaging plot.) However, there is something infinitely more interesting and intense in opting for complexity. Whether it’s a big stout that punches your tongue right in its face and then resolves itself with a thousand subtle notes, a pale ale that confronts with a bitterness that’s almost unbearable and then rewards you with the smoothest of undertones, opting for the complex is ultimately more intense and interesting.
However, if preferring complexity is ultimately more intense and interesting, it is also ultimately harder. In everything — in art, in taste, in relationships — it takes effort. It takes patience and desire. Sometimes, it even takes overcoming an initial objection to discover what lies underneath. (Bob Dylan’s voice, hops’ bitterness.) I think that makes it ultimately rewarding. There is a thrill puzzling through something as arcane as Chaucer and finally feeling like you can get to the heart of 14th century, and realizing that it’s not that far from the heart of the 21st century. There is a joy from getting so deeply immersed into the textures of a song that you’re no longer listening to it, but feeling it, with all of its dynamics, textures, and emotions. There is something joyful in enduring a beer so intense that you’re not sure you can handle it, and coming to terms with all of many ways that the incredibly different ingredients have transcended the sum of their parts to become something that you’ll puzzle over for weeks to come.
In a world of Dan Brown, Fergie, and Bud Light, why wouldn’t anyone opt for complexity?
February 3rd, 2008 at 12:59 pm
Josh, I too have noticed this. I do this a lot now when I’m cooking, especially since it’s something I’ve become so passionate about. I could very easily make a simple easy dish that taste good, but I find myself trying to stretch it into the most complex thing, what spices go with what, how are different ways I can do this, etc.
For example, I’m making clam chowder today. I’ve done it a dozen times. It’s something I know, but today I’ve decided to make it a little different. Instead of using canned clams, I’ve ordered fresh clams. I’m steaming them myself, cleaning them myself, cooking and chopping them myself. Instead of using canned spices, I actually bought the herbs from a market and will chop them down accordingly. Even little things like mincing my own garlic instead of just buying minced garlic. It’s the complexity in it that takes it from a simple dish of food, to an edible piece of art.
February 5th, 2008 at 6:22 pm
Just an update, and there may be something deeper to this:
The complexity of the dish made it a lot more fun to make, but a lot less enjoyable to eat.