I fancy myself to be a sort of music snob. I'm kind of proud of it, in fact. One of my (sad?) life's little pleasures is to hand someone my iPod and have them tell me one of the following:
A) "Wow! You have a ton of music!" (To which I nonchalantly toss off a "Oh, that, well, you should have seen it before I reorganized.)
B) "I've never heard of any of these bands." (To which, I always respond, "You must have completely crappy taste in music," but never out loud.)
C) "Wow! Your record collection is amazing!" (To which, I nod and ask what their latest purchase was and then we can bond over our shared delight in that disc and collective hatred of all things Snow Patrol.)
There are problems with my snobbishness, though. And not because it leaves people thinking I have a giant stick up my cornhole. That, I can live with.
No, the real problem is liking a band that you know is crappy, the trendily-tattooed, ironically-coiffed clerk at Newbury Comics knows is crappy, heck, even my mom knows is crappy. How are you supposed to maintain any sort of indie credibility with such obvious bad taste in your CD stacks?
I'm not talking about artists like, say, Justin Timberlake who are so-uncool-they're-cool-to-like. For those guys (I'd also include: Michael Jackson, Styx, Northern State and maybe Kelly Clarkson in this category), you're not cool if you think they're not cool but in a totally uncool sense, get it? And, let's face it, J-Tims is downright catchy and did put on one heck of a show back in August at the Garden. (Check out this clip... during the bridge, he starts to cover Ryan Adams. Yes, Ryan F-ing Adams.)
Back to the point, though. I'm talking about the artists that make "those of us with taste" recoil a bit... Britney, the Killers, Matchbox20, the Fray, John Mayer et al. Like a band in that category and you instantly drop down a couple notches with the people who know what's up.
This causes some problems. Like this week, for instance. Dashboard Confessional released its 4th full-length. And I wanted to buy it.
For those of you not familiar with Dashboard, it's basically the project of singer/songwriter Chris Carrabba. Carrabba's strained vocals, furiously strummed acoustic guitars and lyrics about lost love appeal mainly to 14-year-old girls. Oh, and dudes who like having sex with other dudes, as the joke goes.
So how am I, a self-respecting music aficionado, who listens to Woxy.com faithfully, reads Mojo, avoids pop radio and had hundreds of CDs organized alphabetically AND chronologically, supposed to walk into a record store and buy that album (on the day it comes out no less)?
Every time Dashboard comes out with a new record, I'm faced with that conundrum. The last time, I wound up buying three other discs (all of which were artsy, underground bands worth of hype and respect) and stuck the other in the middle. It made me feel better; the clerk couldn't judge me! Look what great taste I had! That Dashboard one was probably for my girlfriend or sister or maybe I was out of coasters for my DIY furniture?
But this time around, I couldn't do that again. A) because I'm broke B) because I sold my CD collection and don't really want to buy more discs and C) nothing else came out this week that I really wanted.
So, all Monday, I steeled my reserve as I prepared to walk into the store to *gasp* buy the album.
First, I thought about stealing it... but I don't steal and how embarrassing would that be to get caught with that record? It'd be like stealing a Sam's Choice bottle of soda from Wal-Mart.
I considered about giving cash to one of the homeless guys outside the store to get it for me, but Newbury Comics is right above a liquor store and I don't trust a crackhead to determine the finite differences between "MadDog 2020" and "Dashboard Confessional" or "Drinking it all down" and "Giving it to the person who gave me the money."
Also, I thought about maybe distracting the clerk by asking if they were going to the Minus the Bear show that week at the Middle East, or when Tokyo Police Club's full-length was due, but then I figured that minimizing my time and, hence, potential embarrassment would be a better idea.
Seriously, I thought about this all day. What else was I supposed to do? I was at work and all the internet and phones were down... (How the heck did people do anything before the Internet?)
But I was unable to think up a non-humiliating way to go about buying the CD myself. I just had to do it. I would have to walk in there, go to the rack as fast as possible and hand the disc and a credit card to the cashier and hope they didn't burst into a fit of giggling while I shamefully studied the gum stains on the carpet.
Listlessly, I surfed the web in front of SportsCenter that night. Even my resolve to live had tucked its tail between its legs, it was so ashamed of me. I was going to have to pay good money to get a CD that I'd probably like. Even knowing that I'd like it brought waves of nausea to my stomach and redness to my cheeks. Oh, the shame!
But then, I remembered that my month's subscription to eMusic.com had rolled over the week before. I had 40 downloads once again... and maybe, just maybe I'd be able to download the record. It was a long shot and I didn't have much hope - the major labels have been pretty slow to sign on with the website, which is okay because it gives their editors more space to tell me about the next all-girl, new wave band from Zimbabwe who combine a love of the Cure with references to pre-Pink Album Boris or some crap like that.
But then...
Right there on the front page...
Joy of joys! It was there! And I could download it without having to have any clerk stare me down, bringing my self-esteem crashing to the floor!
Thank God for the Internet...
Okay, so maybe it's all right to just enjoy something because you enjoy it. Music doesn't have to be about snobbery, even if it is kind of a sick pleasure to delight in that aspect. it should be about expressing personal choice and taste. I guess what's really important to remember that if you like it, then buy it.
Oh, and that my collection is so much better than yours.
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