Let’s face it: I’ve got better taste in music than most people. If you’re reading this, the same probably goes for you.
Music’s animated my life and emotions from as long as I can remember, and I’ve been listening to good music for all that time. At a very young age I was listening to some kids’ album that featured a ripping version of “Hickory Dickory Dock” and the 45 of The Royal Guardsman‘s “Snoopy vs. The Red Baron.” Then my uncle bought me a few Beatles‘ albums and The Band‘s eponymous album along with granting me his box of R&B 45s, and from that time forward I’ve spent more time in a darkened room, playing records, than 99% of the population.
“Ordinary fucking people,” as Repo Man‘s Bud (Harry Dean Stanton) would succinctly put it, “I hate them.” Some of my best friends are ordinary people, but what could those people possibly feel in the music they listen to that I haven’t already felt more deeply than they will ever feel? When I love a piece of music, it’s true love, a love across time. My love for a piece of music is a rock. When I dislike a piece of music, I know what I’m talking about too. No, Phil Collins, there is no misunderstanding. If you’re reading this, you’ll probably admit that you’ve felt this way more often than not.
Who can forget the landmark aesthetic battles I’ve faced? In 5th grade a friend and I spent a couple of hours crammed underneath a card table covered in construction paper decorated to represent the “Human Jukebox.” Kids at our school fair could toss a nickle in the slot and choose from our extensive playlist from the American Graffiti soundtrack. “Why don’t you have any Seals and Crofts?” one kid shouted through the slot.
In 1973, I bought Timmy Thomas‘ “Why Can’t We Live Together.” My single looks just like the one spinning in this video. Maybe you know this song. It’s very sparse and is driven by a hypnotic, primitive rhythm box beat. This was long before critics and kids started dropping dimestore references to Sly Stone’s There’s a Riot Going On and Krautrock. This was a minor hit song on AM radio.
The following year I picked up George McCrae’s “Rock Your Baby.” I’ve got to give myself credit for being so cool despite the fact that I was one of the most socially retarded kids in my class. In the following 2 years, as I reached the painful years of attending Bar Mitzvahs and middle school dances, KC and the Sunshine Band were all the rage. Although KC’s early hits weren’t bad, I knew they weren’t as cool as “Rock Your Baby.” It didn’t matter a few years later, when I would learn that KC himself and another bandmate wrote and produced the song for McCrae. McCrae’s song was still cooler, and I was cooler for always preferring it over the super-popular smash hits of my middle school years. This, by the way, would be years before I could misguidedly justify such feelings of snobbery by attributing my preference for McCrae over KC based on any kind of “cultural” credibility.
I will never forget those who came late to the party. Don’t get me wrong – better late than never and all that jazz – but there were stoner rock dudes in high school who called me and my friends “pussies” for our taste in ’60s pop and punk rock who, 2 years later, were running around in vintage plaid shorts at English Beat shows. I’ll give those dudes a pass, but in the late-’80s I started seeing older Deadheads cut their hair and don leather jackets. These were the assholes who turned CBGB’s into a t-shirt store and helped extend the excruciating dénouement of The Ramones.
So many battles would be fought and lost. I stared down an entire decade’s popular music in the 1980s. No one paid me any mind. The battles only strengthened my will and deepened my knowledge. I was more sure than ever that I had better taste in music than most of the population. It’s not that I was right about anything, necessarily, but that my cause was just and meaningful.
Mathematicians and scientists can rely on theories, methodologies, and objective measures to bolster their claims of expertise and feelings of superiority in their respective fields of study over ordinary fucking people. Similarly, I believe that real music lovers, rock snobs, if you must, have their own means of claiming expertise and superiority over most of the population. We have not yet clearly identified and validated these means, but I am confident that one day we will. Or maybe it’s nothing more than feelings. Let’s face it: these are among the reasons we gather here on a regular basis.
Very well said, Mod.
I think that we of RTH are in the very small group of people who like to listen to music but also like to discuss it, critique it, take a bite out of it and chew it before swallowing it or spitting it out. And then there is the even smaller subset who enjoy writing about it. I often wish that I could find better words to really describe how I feel about certain songs or artists, and I admire many of our brethren who can convey their feelings in an interesting and informative way.
I think many of us with good musical taste are musicians, and so are able to get an extra layer of appreciation out of knowing or wondering how a performance was done. Then there are the people of taste who are more interested in the theory of the music: my grandfather was a musicologist because he loved music but couldn’t play it the way he wanted. (Then again, he had a very limited appreciation of music outside of his area, and I can recall his saying that electronics would never contribute much to classical or popular music. Oops).
All this musing does make me wonder how much of our appreciation is genetic vs. inspired by our environment. I will be interesting in hearing about the RTHers with children and their continued efforts to instill taste in music.
Perhaps we need to contribute RTH music family trees to further study this phenomenon.
“I think many of us with good musical taste are musicians, and so are able to get an extra layer of appreciation out of knowing or wondering how a performance was done. ”
But for me, it’s the other way around. I don’t think I have any inherent natural musical ability. I was just so into music that I decided that I was going to learn how to play the guitar. It didn’t come easy and it still doesn’t but I am as obsessed as ever.
It’s cool that you say this, cdm, we’ve got a piece coming up later this week that, in my mind, is a great representation of this view of things.
This essay about hipsterism in today’s NYT is possibly relevant:
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/14/books/review/Greif-t.html?scp=1&sq=hipsters&st=cse
An excellent essay, Mr. Moderator! Full marks for a piece that persuasively makes the case for my musical tastes being inherently superior to yours (and everybody else’s). Real feel-good writing.
Though I must say WE REACH on George McRae and Timmy Thomas. Both of those have been candidates for the Thrifty Music series. Or did “Rock Your Baby” make it through the harsh winnowing process? I forget.
HVB, please explain the “WE REACH” comment again. I never quite get what you’re saying when you write that. I’ve owned and loved those singles since I was a kid, which I believe means that I’ve owned and loved them a lot longer than you, which – most importantly – is an indication that my taste in music is superior to yours! 🙂
You did feature a tasty George McRae song in your Thrifty Music series a while back, didn’t you? I recall it being a WINNER.
WE REACH = Revisionist history
Amiright???
If that’s the case, jeangray, and if I understand that to mean that HVB is questioning my childhood rock cred, he can, as Spike Lee said in the deleted original intro to Jungle Fever, kiss my black ass…TWO TIMES! Thanks.
No, the term “we reach” is much simpler — it means we agree! As in, you and I agree on Timmy Thomas and George McRae. I was noting that — despite the fact that we agree on Thomas and McRae (and others), my musical taste is *still* better than yours — a phenomenon adroitly explained by your excellent essay.
Oh shoot, in that case please accept my sincere apologies for my tongue-in-cheek trash talk! And yes, you have digested the essay properly: your taste *is* still better than mine, just as *mine* is better than yours.