Perhaps some people would have experienced a Scarlett O’Hare awakening at that point and vow to never go hungry for knowledge again, but I’ve never understood the point of being a Music Snob.  By a snob, I mean someone who treasures obscurity over actual talent for the sole point of feeling like an intellectually superior to friends, neighbors, and complete strangers on the Internet.  The snob is easy to identify.  The are quick to put other people down or engage in pithy debate.  They are always in search of the next scene or the most obscure seventies B-side, but they are out front leading the dreaded Backlash when their favorite band starts playing larger venues or climbing the iTunes rankings.  It doesn’t seem like much fun.  I don’t understand being a snob.

On the other hand, I don’t understand NOT being snobby about your music.  Popular music — the kind you hear on the radio and in a blockbuster film — is akin to living in the suburbs and only eating at chain restaurants.  Sure, you can get a pleasing meal at Outback or The Olive Garden.  And that’s good enough for some people.  If nothing else, you consistently know what to expect in terms of cost and quality and menu selection.  But if you venture off the beaten path and into the local bistros and cafes, you’re likely to find a better lasagna or a great place for breakfast or the best taco in town.  Twenty years ago that might have taken a lot more effort.  But in the internet age?  Discovery is at your finger tips.

There certainly is good music to be found on the radio.  Kanye West is like Aussie Cheese Fries — intellectually, you know you should resist, but if you just stop thinking you also know you’ll enjoy it.  Jay-Z is like chain Italian — you know you could do better, but you’re rarely completely let down.  The various pop starlets are your fast-food joints.  The Killers, Muse, Silversun Pickups, the Coldplays, the Green Days — those are the Chili’s and Applebee’s — a bit ridiculous and redundant but still fun.  And groups like Nickelback and Daughtry are like the dirty eclair lying in your trash can with a bit out of it.

All of those can and should be enjoyed from time to time (except the last one). But there is also a whole other world out there.  A world of dead sixties folk icons, forgotten post-punk acts, struggling young bands, astute rappers who don’t make a dime, and clever European pop stars.  And like the tiny corner cafe where the little old lady makes her pizza and pasta by hand, that music is meant to be enjoyed by more people — not used as a chip in some game of intellectual poker.  And that is why I choose to write about music and share my thoughts as much as possible.