You're about to climb aboard a man who just turned on Billy Joel's Greatest Hits Volume 1? Ugh.
Music snobs are the worst in a lot of ways, aren't they?
They ooze pretentious condescension, their eyes trying to tell you that they're always fingering some secret key to the universe in their ass pocket of their kid-size jeans. They snicker when you sing along to Beyoncé. They cringe in your face when you talk about the Sting concert, about how (gulp) spiritual it was.
They see you walking down the summer street in your Pink Floyd shirt and with one fleeting look, they can tear your ego to shreds. Because you know they know. You know that they know that you have never seen Pink Floyd. They know that you know that they know that you have no idea who Syd Barrett is. And you know they know that you don't collect vinyl — and that you never will. Because you like music that isn't released on vinyl. And your Pink Floyd shirt is from Target. It's too much.
If a woman (or a man) thinks another grown man is attractive for all the right reasons, then it doesn't matter what bands he digs, right? RIGHT?
If you screw a man who wears a Pink Floyd shirt from Target and continuously listens to some Bob Marley channel on Rhapsody simply because it reminds him of his frat boy days, I've got news for you: That's a serious crime against humanity.
For real. I'm trying to raise cool children over here and I'm not alone. And you're spraying your stinky steaming breeding piss all over their future. So get it together.
Men who don't care about music or have bad taste in music are everywhere, like a swarm of locusts descending down out of the bright blue sky to annihilate your 4th of July plans. They come in packs of zillions and they all usually look more or less the same, too. I hate to pigeonhole, but no I don't. Because it's true. Not in specific physical features, mind you, but more in the tepid light they give off. It's hard to explain how to identify men with sh*tty music tastes, but if you know, you know.
Dudes who go apesh*t when they hear a Kid Rock song from "back in the day" give off a bizarre glow. Like overly-lit community college classrooms at night. Dudes who sing along to one specific Kid Rock tune from 2007 are halogen. It is what it is.
But here's my point: If you kiss a guy with Maroon 5 breath, you are whether you like it or not, hammering away at the very fragile, beautiful eggshell of art's very evolution.
Not just music. I'm talking literature, film, poetry, theater, painting, you name it. Hell, even the future of all things culinary is punched in the face when you make out with a man who LOVES something like new country music.
Why? You tell me why.
OK, forget it. I'll tell you.
Photo credit: Kyle Engelbert
It's because men like that are sheep breeders. They're sheep who follow in the footsteps of other sheep who are too uninspired from a very young age to seek out things that truly matter. They love nothing of worth.
In fact, they love no art or music at all. They merely "like this a lot." And by "this," I mean sh*t.
All the books they read (between 1 to 4 a year at best) are either about sports or self-help. All the movies they watch are three inches deep. All the paintings they like are van Gogh. And they don't even like them for real. They just like to say "van Gogh." Because they remember that name. And that he painted stuff.
Why do I have to even explain any of this? All the fellas in the world who love really good bands and you're about to climb aboard a man who just turned on Billy Joel's Greatest Hits Volume 1? Not because he likes Billy Joel, either. But because it's the only CD he has. Well, it was either that or Michael Bublé's Holiday collection.
Dear God. What kind of babies do you want to make? Do you even ever ask yourself that question?
Hardcore, I am, huh? I know, I know. Maybe I'm being too harsh here, too mean for my own good. I sound hipster. And what do I know anyway? I'm 45, a dad, divorced. I listen to Billie Holiday wayyyyy more than I ever listen to any cutting edge bands of the moment.
Still, though, music matters. And who we end up with matters and I want to end up (if I ever end up) with someone who understands and is grateful for this vast part of my soul that has been accumulating pseudo street cred for over four decades.
It's not that I think that the stuff I dig is the only stuff worth digging. Not at all. It's just that I took the time and energy to dig to begin with. From the time I was 6, I wanted to know more and more about songs, about music, and bands, and where it all came from.
Is that too much to ask from someone that you decide to fall for? To know that they see and feel the magic that comes along with a partner who really, really loves music? Or books? Or architecture? Or anything that isn't watered-down with the hot deadly blasts of NFL anti-art that curses and kills culture?
I'm not sure. But then again, yes I am. I'm as sure as the next person. I'm as much an expert on all of this as anyone. It's pure opinion, after all. Nothing more or less.
Photo credit: Marko Korkeakoski
So listen, if you love a guy who couldn't care less about music, that's on you. And me.
...And all the wonderful songs that you will never, ever hear when whats-his-name looks at you with beer-buzz eyes, dims the lights, whips off his Abercrombie and Fitch sweatshirt, and turns up the Kenny Chesney.