I am ever on the edge of musical snobbery. Left to my own devices, I delve deeper and deeper into a sonic scenery filled mostly with artistic gibberish and noise. Honestly, I enjoy it. Music from the very edges of human endurance massages a part of my brain that nothing else can quite reach (well, nothing short of Burroughs, Lynch and young Cronenberg). If left alone for more than a few days, you might walk in and find me dancing to Merzbow's greatest hits, the aural equivalent of white noise and flatulence; and I will be wearing a shit eating grin; and I will do my best to convince you that it is beautiful, if you just listen.
Luckily, I am rarely left alone for more than a few days at a time.
I can be counted on to diatribe at length about the shit you find on the radio, about how sad the state of top 40 is, about the race to the lowest common denominator. If given a wide enough soapbox, I will explain how the only real music today is to be found hiding at the fringes, a snipe only the boldest are willing to hunt.
I'm a bit of an idiot.
Pop music is, and will ever be, a collection of mostly crap. However, there is always some gold amongst the shit, if you are willing to get your hands dirty looking for it. I don't know if the gold gets radio play. I haven't turned on the radio to listen to music in years. For all I know, it might be playing such shining, pure genius that the heavens open in rapture as soon as I tune in (although, I doubt it). I'm scared to look. Last time I was exposed to popular radio, I found out who Nikki Minaj was. It will take me some time to recover from that.
However, the Queens of the Stone Age just topped Billboard. Maybe I should look more often.
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