Name That Tune

At school, I ride a shuttle almost everyday. While it is certainly a convenient method of traversing campus, it varies as to just how enjoyable a trip it may or may not be. For example, I was recently stuck listening to country music for a good four or five minutes as I awaited my destination. Drivers often listen to the radio as they make their rounds, but I think there should be a rule against country music. It seems to stand in strict opposition to the purpose of the university—namely, to increase one’s intellect. But this week more than made up for it. As I climbed aboard the Blue the other day (the routes are color-coded, lest you’re confused), the driver was playing a Barenaked Ladies CD. That’s right, my very favorite band. It wasn’t that a BNL song just happened to be on the radio at that moment; there was an actual succession of certified BNL gems streaming out of the shuttle’s shoddy, static-ridden speakers. “Hey, I know this! I know this album! I own this album! I can tell you what album it is!” So the thoughts came to me as I sat in silence, lightly tapping my toes and pretending to keep my cool. Meanwhile, my mind was swallowed up in the dark clouds of a fierce brainstorm. How could I let the driver know that I know what CD he is playing, while avoiding looking like a dork who’s only purpose is to let the driver know that I know what CD he is playing? Hmmm. In the end, I said nothing. I did nothing. I thought about tossing a casual remark his way as I stepped off the bus, something like, “That’s a great album,” or, “BNL rock the house,” or whatnot. But what would he care? And yet it was somehow painful to just walk away from it all, like I had spotted my favorite celebrity and, despite the rarity of such an occasion, forced myself not to cause a disturbance. What would be the point, after all?

Well, the next morning, I was again on the shuttle. The driver (not my co-BNL fan) was listening to the radio, and Pink Floyd’s “Another Brick in the Wall, Pt. 2” was playing. While most people are familiar with the schoolchildren chant that is this song’s chorus (“We don’t need no education…”), one woman on the bus felt compelled to perform an exaggerated lip-sync of the song. Though she pretended not to vie for anyone’s attention, her painfully pronounced facial gestures suggested she was auditioning for someone to notice. I admit, I was slightly annoyed, but was there any difference between what she was doing and what I had wanted to do? Unfortunately, probably not.

Since then, I’ve been thinking about this a bit. Why do we have this natural impulse to disclose our tastes in art (including music, books, movies, etc.) to those whom we believe share in them? Are we merely seeking validation? Or is being understood such a rare commodity that finding someone who shares your interests is like finding a soulmate? I tend to lean toward the latter. When the bus driver was listening to a CD I loved, it was like an immediate intimacy existed between us, even though he never knew about it. The point was, he must have, on some level, understood and felt about something the same way I did. Rarely does someone else come so close to seeing the world through our own eyes (or, perhaps more appropriately, hearing the world through our own ears). When it happens, it’s exciting. It seems different with art than anything else, such as the mere sharing of an opinion. Art is emotional and personal. Thus, our similarities are emotional and personal ones. To know someone shares your taste in art more readily makes that person your emotional kin, something that even common opinions (however fervent) cannot do, at least not so quickly. And this is probably why being insulted when it comes to artistic tastes is a much greater slap in the face. It’s like discrediting someone’s emotions and personality.

So, um … to all country music fans reading this post, I hope you’ll accept my apology. I’m sorry.