Music makes the bourgeoisie and the rebel come together (as long as there is an adequate police presence)

I won't bore anyone with the debate about whether or not there is good and bad music. Because, frankly, there is. A good beat makes good music in the purest sense, in the sense my mammoth fur clothed ancestors would have understood. In the midst of a fertility ritual there was no need for explanation of the existential meaning of the prolonged saber-tooth-tiger-teeth-on-the-xylophone solo. You just got up and jumped around like, well, like a caveman. There was nothing to 'get'. Music was created as a way to communicate through tribes, languages, religions, sects, sects and more sects, and even species. It really is only in recent human development that music took on more meaning. Now if you don't 'get it' you aren't 'in' 'it'. 'It' being 'cool' or 'hip' or 'twitter' or whatever the kids say now. Frankly, the whole thing confuses and scares me. I would say my mom says I'm cool but she reads this blog only to discover new ways in which I am not, nor was I ever, considered cool.

Anyone who has lived through teen aged years in North America knows that your worth is heavily weighed in what music you like. "What do you listen to" has surpassed "How's it going" and "Me love you long time" as traditional teenage greetings. "Everything" is akin to "Agnostic" as an answer. Just declare a side, you hippie. You're expected to say "...."..... Ok, I have no idea what teens these days listen to. In my day, you were supposed to say anything from Green Day to Tool to NWA for boys, or Alanis to, well, Green Day and Tool for girls. One thing that always struck me was guys aren't supposed to like girl acts. To me, women suit the music industry so much more, historically and otherwise. Growing up in suburban Ontario my favourite acts were Nine Inch Nails (acceptable), Bowie (Who?...sadly), anyone on MoTown, especially MJ (hahahaha...seriously?), Beck (FAG!) and Bjork (ok, now you're just messing with us).

MoTown always brought me closer to everyone in my family. As you might know, we were the Arabic/Slav wing of the movement. Ahem. Cough. Anyway, NIN (picture that second N backwards for maximum subversiveness) quickly and thoroughly distanced me from the people in my house along with society. More so, anyway. If you combined my sisters' and my music you would come away with the the past twenty years of the world music awards, so they sort of understood. My second older sister famously quoted "Most of this crap just sounds like noise. But this is noise I can dance to, so I like it." But my father heard "God is dead and no one cares! If there is a hell I'll see you there!" and quickly called a top psychologist. Silly Dad. It'll take a team of psychologists.

And so on. My parents actually liked music in the true sense as I mentioned above. They liked a good beat where ever it emerged. My dad was actually in a band as a teen, though the only proof of this I have are pictures and the lingering violent mood swings. My mom was a go go girl. Blond hair down to her ass, mini skirt, platforms taller than your average toddler. No matter her position in the Polaroid her drink was always 90 degrees to the horizon. If nothing else, I share my mother's curious lack of drink spillage in the face of our hereditary inner ear problem.

But imagine my horror when in between NIN songs I put on Bowie in my bedroom and my mother burst in dancing along (no, the horror was not masturbatory related...for once). I actually vividly remember the scene. Suffragette city. November 14th. 1995. *shiver*

This isn't nearly as ridiculous as the fact that, even as well-adjusted (or faking to be well-adjusted) adults we still subscribe to the notion that there is music we're supposed to like and music we're not supposed to like. Recently I bought a new MP3 player and had to load it up with new music. In a completely legal and ethical way, cough sneeze burp, I downloaded new music to fill 'er up. A couple of songs by Mylie Minogue. Well, I lived in Europe for a bit so you Yanks just don't get it. Eminem. This one is weird. Around some guys it's expected. Other guys and most gals this is reprehensible. You have to be careful. Marilyn Mason. Antichrist Superstar is a great album, and passing it up on account of his persona or the title is a loss to you. Madonna. Oh, where do I begin that 30 year old men aren't allowed to listen to the Material Girl? Bed Time Story has always been my favourite song of hers, and I recently found out Bjork wrote it so that allows me to have it on the player. Lady Gaga? Well, ummmm, she's named after Queen. I can claim confusion on account of the name

But then we come to Brittany. Spears, for those who recently hit their heads on buses. Womanizer in particular (actually, seriously, this is the only one, though Toxic could be great if dealt with better). I like the beat. I first heard it in a bar and couldn't hear her voice and, though I may have been under the influence of, errr, life, I professed my love for the beat. Friends shook their heads, frowned, punched me in the private parts. How dare I like the #1 problem with modern music?! But you know, I went home and listened to it and her voice only added to the allure. It suits it perfectly in my opinion. It's far from a perfect song, don't get me wrong. But this song by any other name probably wouldn't be as hated. Sometimes I listen to it at home, including tonight proudly. And by proudly I mean in my earphones on half volume so if my phone accidentally opens and randomly dials a number the person on the other line won't hear it.

Where else do we allow ourselves to live by these ridiculous rules? Not only can we watch bad movies, but now we have parties to celebrate the occasion. I regularly wear a normal shirt and tie to work with no backlash from the masses, and on nights out will combine absurdly clashing prints with a random bandanna around my head a la karate kid for affect, yet any mention of it is stifled under Don't ask/Don't tell (or the like). It seems like you can express yourself in any way except through music these days, which is the antithesis to music as an art form to begin with. Music should bring people together, not set them apart. And let's face it, there are only a few set beats in our comprehension. It's like boobies. Oh, it's disgusting that this pop star shows her boobs. Yeah, but they're boobs. Everyone loves boobies. Some are better than others, but to shut out a complete set of boobs is simply limiting yourself.

We like to pretend that music makes us different, it sets us apart and declares our true personality. But I refuse to put Brittany on my player for fear the nameless jerk hogging the armrest on the plane might notice her name come up on the 3 inch device. This coming from a guy who, in a high school class with a punk-rock teacher who I got along famously with, did a project on Cyndi Lauper just to mix things up (he almost failed me based on my artist choice, just to confirm my point). But as long as I refuse the most mainstream branches of my musical tree I will know nothing I listen to defines me. So, in a weird way, every time I listen to bootlegged experimental music from Turkmenistan I will know that I am not nearly as cutting edge as I want to be because I refuse to accept my admiration of Brittany Spears.

Isn't it ironic. Don't you think? It's like rain on your wedding day (which, incidentally isn't ironic at all, which you would know if you spent any time in a Canadian English class in 1990s Canada). The point is, unless you accept all of yourself you can never truly accept any part of yourself.

The Dali Lama ain't got shit on me.