One of the things that people first learn about me is that I don’t like talking about my music tastes. At all. Sure, if we’re listening to a song together, I might volunteer some comment. I might say something I like or dislike about that particular song. But if you ask me about a particular artist; if you ask me what my favorite song or ‘type’ of music is, I won’t have an answer for you. I truly don’t know, and will probably get annoy at you for asking.
Perhaps it goes back to my sensitive middle school days. I still really know nothing about music. I don’t remember artist or song names, which is probably some of my trouble with naming a favorite. But in middle school, I felt the loss more. I was a smart kid surrounded by smart-kid friends. It was a shameful thing not to know something, especially about music, which was one of the few allowable areas of personal style for a kid in the Midwest. I retain some of that shame, though the lack of knowledge doesn’t bother me so much any more.
But despite my lack of taste, or perhaps because of it, it’s easy for me to criticize the favorites of others. It’s easy to ask to change the station or skip a song when your own preferences can’t be called into question. However, occasionally this freedom can backfire. For example, I would prefer not to be stabbed for stating my dislike. Of course, in this instance there were probably other relationship issues between the stabber and her boyfriend, and my own personal lack of knowledge usually keeps me from getting into direct verbal confrontations about music. After all, lots of people don’t like Bruce Springsteen.