I judge people on their music taste.
I see music as a prime way of expression and assume that what someone listens to says a lot about them. When I found out one of my friends listened to only musicals, I thought that explained her social awkwardness quite well. This way of thinking — I’ve realized — has affected my own music listening habits.
Let me explain. I am constantly listening to music — either on a pair of headphones, in my car or on a small rectangular speaker I was given for Christmas (thanks Mom). Looking back, I have noticed that what music I listen to changes depending on what I am listening on and if I am listening alone.
Out of the three, I spend most of my time listening on my headphones. There is a freedom with being in control of what music is being played and an even bigger sense of relief when I am the only one listening. Whether I am alone in my dorm, walking to my next class or at work, I have the agency to set the soundtrack to my day. When I put my headphones on, I am in a montage in a 90s coming of age movie.
I am Napoleon Dynamite in the climax of the movie, when he dances in front of the whole school. The stage is blacked out with a spotlight fixated solely on Napoleon. The once-loud crowd dies down as Jamiroquai’s “Canned Heat” fades into the audio mix. For the next minute, it’s just Napoleon and his music. That’s the feeling I get when I put on my headphones. All the outside noise gets drowned out — and it’s just me and my music.
When playing music for a group, my experience changes. I play songs that I think they will like — but not out of the kindness of my heart; I play songs that project an image of how I want to be seen. It’s an opportunity to put my best foot forward — not necessarily playing my favorite music, but instead what I think will please the room and leave a lasting impression. It’s a performance. I want to bring something unique, hoping that when my phone finally disconnects I will be asked the name of a song or a band I played.
People connect to music emotionally. There is some music that I listen to that I know is not very good — but because of the nostalgia I have for it, I absolutely love it. Because I know that its general appeal is not wide, it is music I only listen to alone. I have an insatiable love for 90s skate punk and emo. I can’t get enough of bratty white dudes whining about their high school crush that they had no chance with. Outfits like the Queers and The Promise Ring are on repeat in my headphones but never played on my speaker. I love these bands, even though I know they suck. It is also why few people actually know that I care about these bands — because I am an insecure music snob.
Because music has been such a big theme throughout my life, I attribute much of who I am to the music I grew up on. My sense of humor was directly influenced by the So-Cal punk scene of the 90s, with the teenage immaturity of bands like blink-182 and the aforementioned Queers combined with the absurdity of the ska band the Aquabats. Earnest new-wave love songs like “A Flock Of Seagulls,” “Space Age Love Song” and When In Rome’s “The Promise” — which my mom would play on repeat — gave me romanticized perspectives not just on love, but on music.
It was not until I found out that not many people had ever heard of or liked my skate punk that I started to feel self-conscious about my music taste. While on the aux, I experienced someone asking the question, “Whose music is this?” The question was marred with disapproval and confusion, the asker unsure of how anyone could enjoy “that” music. That experience was harsh enough to make me rethink what music I played in front of others.
Now, instead of blasting a deep cut from my favorite band — like blink-182’s humorously titled “Does My Breath Smell?” — I play songs I like less for what I perceive will be an increased reverence for my taste in music and, more importantly, to avoid judgment. I am not trying to be a poser — I genuinely do like the music I play while on aux. Some of my go-to’s are The Grateful Dead and The Smiths, artists which I do hold dear. But I never show much love on the aux to blink-182, because I think that being a Smiths fan is a lot cooler (and safer) than being a blink-182 fan.
Being a self-conscious music listener comes at a cost. In assuming others are as judgmental as myself, I trade the opportunity to truly express myself for the safety of being accepted. I water down my music taste, hiding music that has shaped me to avoid being judged. Music can bring people together, but only if you let it. We form emotional bonds with our music that can make our favorite tracks feel like an integral part of our lives. By no means should I rule over the aux with an iron fist, seizing the opportunity to just play the songs that I like. In taking song suggestions or sharing music I think other people will like, my chances of connecting with them are greater.
The problem lies with my motivations. I want to throw on a Smiths song not for my own benefit in the ears of the beholder, but simply because I hope we’ll both enjoy it. Not get nervous being on aux in the car, but rather excited to share this experience with someone else. Listening to music in my headphones allows me to connect with it in a special way, while listening to music aloud gives me the chance to share that connection with other people.
Maybe someday, The Smiths and blink-182 can exist side-by-side in my car playlist. Until then, I’ll continue to enjoy my skate punk solo.