Why Is a Teenager Torturing Himself With 400 Noise Albums? Blame (Or Thank) The Algorithm.
Let me ask you something: When was the last time you forced yourself to truly focus on something unpleasant for more than five minutes? Not doomscrolling through bad news, not enduring a bad Zoom call, but intentionally subjecting yourself to sensory discomfort? Meet Sam Andrews, the 18-year-old from Georgia who’s become a minor internet celebrity for listening to all 400 albums by Merzbow—a Japanese noise artist whose music sounds like a jet engine having a seizure—and documenting it on Instagram. On the surface, it’s absurd. But if you dig deeper, his experiment reveals something unsettling about how our brains are being rewired by technology.
The Beautiful Absurdity of Committing to the Bit
Sam’s project isn’t just about endurance; it’s about defiance. In a world where Spotify algorithms feed us bite-sized serotonin hits and TikTok edits train our brains to expect instant gratification, he’s chosen to wade through 400 albums of ear-splitting noise. Why? Because he can. Because it’s there. Because, as he puts it, “it’s like a medal of honor.” Personally, I think that misses the point. What Sam is really doing is rejecting the cult of efficiency that dominates modern life. When every minute is monetized, every playlist optimized for ‘vibes,’ choosing to waste time on purpose becomes a radical act. It’s not about the music—it’s about reclaiming agency over your attention span.
Merzbow: The Anti-Spotify Artist
Let’s talk about Merzbow for a second. His most popular album, Pulse Demon, isn’t just ‘loud’—it’s an assault. Imagine sticking a microphone into a black hole and playing the recording backward. And yet, this man has a cult following. Why? Because his music forces you to confront the silence after the noise. It’s like a sonic fasting cleanse for your ears. Sam describes one friend’s reaction: “He said he could hear the silence afterward.” That detail? That’s the whole ballgame. In my opinion, Merzbow’s work isn’t about sound—it’s about the absence of it. The way it makes you hyper-aware of your own nervous system. It’s art as a stress test.
Gen Z’s Love-Hate Relationship With Suffering
Here’s the twist: Kids today are both the most sensitive and the most masochistic generation in history. They’ll call out microaggressions in one breath and then blast Merzbow on their Alexa in the next. Sam’s audience skews middle-aged—people who once listened to this stuff in college dorms by trading bootlegs—but the teens who do engage with noise music treat it like a meme. They’re weaponizing it to annoy Boomers or soundtrack videos of smashed smartphones. Is this irony? Immaturity? Or is it a weird kind of sincerity? What many people don’t realize is that Gen Z’s obsession with ‘toxic’ aesthetics isn’t nihilism—it’s a survival tactic. If you grow up in a world that feels apocalyptic, why not embrace the noise?
The Deeper Crisis: We’ve Forgotten How to Suffer
Let’s get uncomfortable. The real reason Sam’s project resonates is that it exposes a poverty of endurance in modern culture. We’ve become allergic to discomfort. Algorithms shield us from it. Playlists soothe us. Even ‘sad’ music on Spotify is curated to be ‘relatable,’ not traumatic. But art used to hurt. Beethoven’s Ninth? Revolutionary. Punk rock? Dangerous. Merzbow? Terrifying. If you take a step back and think about it, the ability to sit through 40 minutes of screeching feedback without skipping is a skill—one we’re losing. Sam’s color-coded spreadsheet of Merzbow albums isn’t nerdy; it’s tragicomic. He’s applying corporate efficiency to an act of spiritual rebellion. The contradiction is us.
What This Means for the Future of Art
Sam thinks people will still talk about Merzbow in 100 years. I’m not so sure. But here’s what I do know: The tension between deep focus and digital distraction will define the next century of culture. Will we pathologize attention spans that wander? Or will ‘deep listening’ become a niche hobby, like analog photography or reading Proust? One thing that immediately stands out in Sam’s story is how few of his peers actually engage with his content—because most would rather chase dopamine than confront entropy. Yet there’s hope. Every time someone watches his video and thinks, ‘I don’t get this, but I’m curious,’ that’s a crack in the algorithmic matrix.
In the end, Sam’s Merzbow marathon isn’t about music. It’s about asking a question most of us are too frazzled to notice: What does it cost us when we outsource our attention to machines? The answer might be in the silence after the noise stops.
