So here I am, lying in bed at 11:49, not ready to sleep, but too tired to be up. My internet connection is playing up so YouTube is out of the question… My finger slips on my phone, opening Spotify. Why not I think… My music –> Songs –> Shuffle Play… Wow, Right… Not what I was expecting, Bryan Adams: Run to You. ‘When did I download that?’ I think, but as guitars wail and the gravelly tones of Canada’s greatest export after maple syrup ring in my ears my mind changes…

 

I now remember why I love this song, I love the hammy 80s message, I love the bright and simple guitar and slick clean bass. But why did I think negatively at all I ask myself? Why did I feel guilty for liking this song? Why do I skip past songs when playing them for friends? Why is it I’m happy to listen to music promoting a poor South African youth-subculture publicly, but an accomplished 80s pop artist forces me to blush and make some excuse. We like what we like, and that should be alright?

 

Maybe it’s the fear of being different, having tastes that are too far ‘out there’, too different to our friends. But to this I say stick it, I listen to plenty of stuff my friends don’t, and I don’t feel the outsider. To me, they are. How can they only listen to one type of music, one genre, one decade? What’s wrong with you?! There’s generations of amazing sound and I intend to appreciate each and every one.

 

But the question returns, with my James Dean rebel attitude to musical ignoramuses why do I feel I have guilty pleasures?! I don’t think I can answer that. But until I do, I’m going to lie in bed listening to the Beach Boys, followed by some late 70s hair metal and then some Lionel Ritchie, because I love music, I’m having a great time and I don’t care what people think!

 

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