Not too many years ago, I was what you might call a pretentious music snob. I bought imported vinyl from new bands, and out-of-print pressings from those long disbanded (Modern Lovers b-sides, anyone?) Not only did I DJ at my college radio, I had the top listenership. And I was on the board of directors.
I took great pride in knowing more about music than any of my friends. I became an obsessive consumer and curator of taste. I could instantly pick out new bands worth listening to from the ones that were mediocre or just weren’t going to be around in a year. But one day, I realized something: I wasn’t having fun. Everything I knew told me I shouldn’t enjoy the music that made me feel the best, and I didn’t want to relate to the people who knew the random obscure crap that I couldn’t believe I was saying.
But here’s the thing.