I’m on vacation this week and the time I would normally have spent last night picking out songs for the mini-van mix I spent laughing and chatting with one of my favorite music girls. So, instead of a mix today I just want to get something off my chest that helps explain my music insanity. Rock On.
I’m having an Andy Rooney moment. For those of you too young to know who that is, let me explain. Actually, come to think of it, I’m pretty much too young to know who he is. What I do remember is turning on the television sometimes and hearing him say, “you know what I hate?” and then rambling on about some annoyance.
So, I’m having an Andy Rooney moment.
The problem is my mom told me never to hate anything. She said hate was too strong. Instead I was supposed to strenuously dislike things.
So, you know what I strenuously dislike? Music snobs. For all you grammar snobs out there, I purposely said “what” I dislike instead of “whom” I dislike because rather than think of Music Snobs as people, I like to think of them as a thing-an anonymous being-if you will. That way, I don’t feel so bad about strenuously disliking them… or…it…or crap, now I’ve confused myself.
Whatever, we were talking about Music Snobs.
Let me be clear. I am obsessed with music. I have been since as early as I can remember my life. I love both lyric and melody. I have been moved to tears by certain songs. My mood can be changed 180 degrees in the 3 minutes and 12 seconds it takes for one complete song to play through my speakers.
I love classical music. I love classic rock. I love country and gospel.
I love Icons, like U2, with a passion that might be considered unhealthy.
I have been known to sit around for hours and just play albums, tapes and CDs.
The ultimate sign of genius to me is someone who can write lyrics, compose the music to go with it and then sing the song that entertains us. That to me is the Trifecta of Life.
So, while I am a music lover, aficionado or just plain old super-fan, here is why I am not a Music Snob: For every Beatles song or Vivaldi concerto I download, I have an equal number of songs by Britney,Bruno, Fergie, Taylor, and sometimes, even Miley.
I love these artists (and all their other Pop music friends) not because they are musical geniuses, (I mean, yes, Taylor wrote and sang her own music-at 17, which makes her pretty close, but her voice is-at best-tolerable, let’s be honest. And Fergie? Sweet mother that woman is some sort of total package alright, but I’m not sure it’s because of her musical talents.) but because they provide some good old fashioned fun.
These artists write or perform songs that make you smile or at the very least, wiggle in your seat. They sing (or speak into enhanced microphones) hits that I can enjoy with my kids. They provide a daily dance sound track for my kitchen disco. They sometimes even write a lyric that makes you think.
When I’m nostalgic for high school unrequited love, no one fills me like Taylor Swift. If I need to feel a little like a rebel I love me some Pink or even Avril Lavigne.
When I look to dance around a room, can you find me better people to fill that need than Fergie and her Black Eyed Pea pals?
How about kick ass runner girl tunes? Thank you Kelly Clarkson and Christina Aguilera I think I will sing your songs inappropriately loud in the cardio room.
Music snobs, they scoff at these ladies and their male counterparts. (Oh Taio and Timberlake-how I love thee.) They look down their noses at people who dare to pay $1.29 for the newest song by a former American Idol. They, the Music Snobs, think people are not real music “people” if there is any pop on their iPod.
I used to hide my pop music love from my other music friends, lest I be judged, or worse, dismissed.
You know what? I am not hiding anymore. I do not care of my street cred is ruined by a few Michael Buble songs in the rotation. I will stand proud when I belt out all the lyrics to The Climb. I will dance with abandon-all around the house-to Beyonce. And I will gladly hit repeat (again and again) when my two year old wants This Club Can’t Handle Me over and over in the car.
Music snobs here is what I say to you: reserve your judgement for someone who cares. Because if being in your ultra cool -I drink black coffee at open-mic night and only listen to real artists-club means I can’t have a little booty shaker in my life-then I don’t want to be a member.
I need a little joy and sometimes, I find it in America’s Top 40, thank you very much.
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