When music is discussed or written about, it usually boils down to an argument of whether it's really good or really bad, since frankly it's boring to discuss music that's just so-so. But how do you really define quality"" in an art form where the bad is the most popular, the mediocre is the most ubiquitous and the good survives only in opposition to what it's not?
If that sentence didn't make sense, don't worry about it - chances are it's not supposed to. What I'm here to explore is the hazy and totally indefinable question of what makes music alluring, objectionable or otherwise provocative.
Let me start by laying down the one obvious ground rule: As much as I hate to admit it in a squabble over music, ""good"" is whatever you decide it is, and it's completely subjective to taste.
That's exactly why I don't believe in guilty pleasures. I like Fleetwood Mac, for instance, but I don't feel the least bit guilty about it - if I did, then I wouldn't truly like them. If you're into music that most think is bad, revel in that fact; it will help you form unique tastes that aren't manufactured by music merit factories like Pitchfork, Billboard or that friend of yours who's always talking about music.
When no one likes something I like, it only strengthens my convictions that I'm right and that others just don't get it. For example, no one really likes the Vines anymore, and this makes my belief that they're a bang-up psychedelic/garage/pop band seem all the more relevant and infallible.
In truth, I'm attracted to any piece of music that is widely considered atrocious, since there's something undeniably compelling about an artist or album that manages to draw ire and cause the majority to recoil in distress. In the past this has led me to seek out such albums as Lou Reed's hilariously annoying Metal Machine Music, a double album of literally nothing but offensive, layered guitar feedback, and the Rolling Stones' Their Satanic Majesties Request - Brian Jones' muddy, druggy and vaguely brilliant answer to 1967. Sometimes this penchant of mine to explore infamously bad music leads me to uncharted regions of discomfort - like when I forced myself to endure Bruce Willis' The Return of Bruno just for kicks, or made the mistake of thinking the Butthole Surfers' nightmarish Locust Abortion Technician might actually be worth hearing.
The reason I'm willing to put up with this sort of torturous experimentation is that ""bad"" often translates to ""good"" when you look through the magnifying glass of novelty, and I wouldn't want to miss out. Besides, those artists who take a risk and end up making something mind-numbingly dreadful - rather than playing the pandering game of audience appeasement - are the coolest of them all, because they're doing exactly what they want to do. What could be more rock 'n' roll than that?
Another important consideration is for music to be legitimately aggravating, it has to be really popular, too. This is why the Eagles are by far the worst band of all time: They totally suck and they have the top selling album of all time, so there's a lot to be repulsed by. The more something is loathsome as well as popular, the more appalling it becomes because it's more in your face.
On the other hand, not liking something just because it's popular is simply misguided. For example, the whole issue with indie artists losing credit by ""selling-out"" and going to a major label is really a pile of nothing - it has no bearing on the music that the artist doesn't want anyway, so deal with it. The White Stripes jumped to a major label and still rock, while Modest Mouse made that jump and became lame. It can go either way.
Popularity and quality can have nothing to do with each other, or everything. It depends on whether you allow them to coexist with your definition of ""quality,"" and whether you form that definition based on mass opinion or autonomous judgment.
If this column has only strengthened your conviction that the Eagles are great and that Ben just doesn't get them, let him know at bpeterson@wisc.edu.
