Any piece of music is ultimately exposed to some critical review, whether implied or premeditated. This harmless evaluation is most frequently sensed rather than explicitally stated, mostly because soundwave-related emotions are difficult to enunciate. It’s also due to the lack of incentive to actually do so.
The distribution process leaving the listener on his own, it’s easy to misinterpret the author’s intent: mistake sparse arrangements for indolence, intricate melodies for self-indulgence, or elaborate patchworks for concealed contempt. You’re subsequently left wondering if any stimulating or dreary part of a song is due to some deliberate manoeuvre (eventually accidentally achieved but deliberately maintained) or to a fundamental flaw in the artist’s vision.
Though seldom possible, the only way to obliterate the uncertainty of a listener’s misreading is to discuss the matter with the author itself, and untangle the confused mass of inaccurate assumptions. This encounter will hopefully expose the piece of music to a new shade of light, or regrettably surround its splendour with fumes of disapprobation.