Jackson Free Press

You're out at a bar on Saturday and start talking to a smart, funny and good-looking girl. You go back and forth discussing your favorite movies, authors and television shows. You like "Star Wars"; she likes "When Harry Met Sally." You like Hunter Thompson; she likes Charles Dickens. You like "The Sopranos"; she likes "My Super Sweet Sixteen." You laugh at the obvious gap in your tastes but don't for a second think it will affect your budding relationship. Then you ask her what music she likes.

"Umm… ." There is a pause, followed by a big, uncomfortable smile. "I like everything!" she says, with arms outstretched to demonstrate just how wide her taste spans.

You smile back, though it is not exactly genuine. She realizes that you think her answer is a cop-out and quickly turns the tables on you: "So, what kind of music do you like?"

The pressure mounts. "Well," you say, taking an identical pause. "I guess I like almost everything, too."

Why is it that the vast majority of people give this false answer to a simple question of musical taste? Why is it that you yourself will often give this answer to the question even when you know it is not true? Why is it that people never say that they like all movies, or all books or all TV shows?

When someone asks what your favorite movie is, you may feel a little dorky saying "Star Wars," but you still say it, and if they lose respect for you—whatever, you like "Star Wars." Even if someone admits to liking Federico Fellini films, you don't immediately write them off as a pretentious snob. You are willing to dig deeper to find out who they are.

With music, it's a different story. There is the stereotypical fan of every major band, and if someone tells you they like them, they are immediately typecast. If you meet someone who likes The Grateful Dead, they have to prove to you that they aren't a stoner. Conversely, you have to watch who you admit to liking lest you become the hackneyed fan. You worry that your love of Prince will make you sound too feminine. You worry that liking The White Stripes will make you sound pretentious. You worry that listening to Eminem will make you sound like a wanksta or a hate-filled homophobe. No band is safe.

That is the significance of the pause after the question: to try to dissect what trait the person would find most attractive and to affiliate yourself with that band's stereotypical fans. That is why a new couple will likely unzip their pants for each other before unzipping their CD wallets.

Then of course, once you discover your difference in tastes—even if it's as varied as The Sex Pistols versus Simon and Garfunkel—it will not destroy your relationship as you had feared. It will just lead to colorful debates about what to listen to when you're cooking dinner, before you inevitably settle on The Beatles.

Rob Hamilton's pop music column appears every other week in the Jackson Free Press.