When I was a teenager I got into avant-garde jazz. While my peers listened to the Rolling Stones, I listened to Ornette Coleman, Cecil Taylor, Jimmy Giuffre's 1960s trios, and Albert Ayler. At the time, I found the music easy to relate to -- especially Ornette's. This was pretty unusual for a 15-year-old.Most people could readily hear that the avant-garde musicians were seeking to use dynamically powerful walls of arrhythmic hammering to create a seemingly endless climax beyond rationality. And they hated the music for it! They missed that there were elements of great melodic beauty, too. For me, it was a waiting game: I waited out the long passages of incomprehensible musical explosions until the musicians played something that one could comprehend as melody, harmony or nice rhythm.When I was into avant-garde jazz my perception of music was much less advanced. In fact, I was only listening to the primary lines. Avant-garde jazz was based on musical interdependence, so the best way (if not the only way) to truly enjoy it was not to pay attention to the lack of coordination between the instruments. As I learned more about music I was able to hear music more like a 3-dimensional object. I could hear harmony and how musical lines could go together with a wonderful symmetry. Listening to avant-garde jazz became less enjoyable.Eventually, my musical interests changed, my avant-garde jazz records stayed in their jackets, and I never went out to hear avant-garde jazz groups anymore.There was one exception: I went to hear the World Saxophone Quartet in Austria about ten years ago. I went with members of my own saxophone quartet while we were on tour. I didn't buy into the aesthetic the group was peddling -- an appeal to the hip to bond together and love what the bourgeoisie would seemingly run from because of its fierce unloveliness. It was almost comical the way the four saxophonists abruptly turned from comprehensible musical phrases and harmonies to cacophony and then back again.The thrill was truly gone.