My music is where I'd like you to touch...

As my friend Dave points out over on his little patch of the internet, defining cool is as fool-hearty as shoving cats in a sac, and just as likely to end in tears. And so from this, comes the always-controversial musical sub-argument of what defines cool music?

This topic has been rattling around inside my head for weeks now and I’ve been trying to find the best way to vocalize it (or editorialize it as the case may be). Until - that is - I was on a site called stillepost – which, for haters and hipsters, is Mecca.

I won’t get into why I was reading posts on this page, except to say that the baseless, vitriol being thrown around was breathtaking – even for someone as cynical and curmudgeonly as myself.


I sat atop my high horse, shaking my head at these mustachioed trend-setters, while they pulled apart bands and music piece by piece. Each one trying to out-hate the last comment posted – and yet in the most ambivalent of styles. And just as I was about to cast judgment I realized that there was a time not to long ago that I would have been one of them.

I would easily be described as a musical snob. I’m picky about my music and I believe there needs to be a level of credibility to it before I’ll jump on board. In fact it was this very idea that kicked this whole blog off.

But in the past four or five years I’ve realized that you reach an age where no one cares how cool you think you are anymore. I could exhaust myself daily trying to keep up with thousands and thousands of new bands and artists, but for what? Besides, that’s what SniffyVon is for. It's always best to leave things like this to the professionals.

That’s not to say I’ve stopped listening for new stuff, I just don’t have that urgency anymore. I don’t have the one-upmanship driving me. I’ve come to terms with the fact that no one’s impressed with how many indie bands I know about…not even me.

I also realized that I was closing myself off from too much good music because I had a preconception of what my music was.

I heard stuff like Fela Kuti and Sly Dunbar, neither of which are vegans from New York city with tight pants and realized they were great, and they didn’t fall into the tiny compartment I had deemed acceptable.

And I’m no longer ashamed to admit that I like corny, cliché stuff like Wings and ELO and Fleetwood Mac. I’m not saying everyone should run into the streets with Stryper and Journey albums held approvingly above their heads (I would even go so far as to advise against it), but if you dig a Billy Joel song than damn it – you enjoy your Piano Man.

Hell, my wife and her friends love the John Bon Jovi without a trace of irony and I admire the shit out of her for it. More of us should love music so unabashedly.