Monday, January 9, 2006

What bands do you like? This is a question that, depending on the inquisitor, turns from genuine curiosity into a sinister validation of personal worth, and these moments particularly drive me nuts. One uncle asks me this question on a regular basis. Time was I’d fumble for cool groups, when all he really wanted, I later realized, was for me to slip up and blurt out, “Goo Goo Do– Uh, I mean Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch.”

I’ve devised a new answer for this situation: NPR. You may want to try this sometime, I don’t know, because initial testing shows spectacular results. The subject sputtered, indeed grew slightly enraged, and exclaimed, “That’s not music!” Thereafter the topic was dropped.

The truth of the matter is I don’t have a favorite band or genre, at least not in the way the loaded question would have me answer. The correct choice, I imagine, is Pink Floyd. The Eagles. DMB. Any of these would work, you see, provided I infuse my reply with a musical conviction simply unavailable to me at this time. It’s the same conviction you see in diehard sports fans, where the passion is such you believe the actual band or team members showed up at their houses. It’s like, “Oh, so Pearl Jam knocked on your door and proceeded to take exclusive dumps in your upstairs bathroom? Do tell.”

The main sources of my music are movies and the Internet. You’re struck by a song in a flick, so you look up the song, then the band, then some other songs by the band. This isn’t exactly a plate of stunning revelation, so I don’t believe I’m alone on this. You could argue I’m compromising my musical integrity by having film directors dictate my playlist, to which I’d answer, “What?” They’re soliciting good shit, and bands that would’ve continued unknown to me–Guster, Iron & Wine, The Weakerthans, Lemon Demon–become known.

Of course, this doesn’t mean my enthusiasm extends to entire albums from each group. I enjoy three or four Coldplay songs, for instance, but 11 of the 12 tracks on X&Y made me feel as if I had sat through an entire Radiohead CD, which is to say dense, stupid, a filthy Philistine who had willfully forgotten his dark glasses and felt beret at the local natural foods tea bar.