music whore

After Sarah hooked me up with what is probably the 40th round of new music she's supplied over the years, I've come to a saddening but justifiable conclusion:

I rarely find music I like through my own effort.

I've always been jealous of my especially music-conscious friends -- Sarah, Alyssa, and Erin being the predominant characters -- and their ability to create favorite playlists or fill iTunes libraries with original and delightful artists. Sure, I have taste. I find the majority of hard-core country music cheesy. Most rap songs contain so many slang references I don't have a clue as to what the song is actually about. I would define my favorite genres as thoughtful R&B, combined with anything that has a tasteful dance beat and most solo female artists, especially those that play their own instruments (Kelly Clarkson will always be my unabashed guilty pleasure, and I've connected many a lost soul with her prophetic ballads. Judge if you will). But for the most part, these artists have been gifted to me. With the exception of Sara Barielles and Destiny's Child, I have never gone out and bought an album without either a direct recommendation or an extensive listening history of the artist or band.

At college, some consider me a music expert, oddly enough. I am well known, at least in my small group of influence, for the "Dancing Naked" mixes, made up of 20 or so songs per volume that provide excellent pop-and-go road trip soundtracks, or the perfect freshmen social soundtrack. The third volume is almost complete, pending my acquisition of a few more songs from my sister. Speaking of whom, has probably the most unique taste I've ever encountered: anything from Panic! at the Disco to Norah Jones to Enya to Kanye West. But most of these collections are based on my crucial ability to pick out songs with solid beats or motivating riffs. Running music at the Rollarena since I was 16 teaches you a thing or to as to how to read a crowd for music tastes, and how to transition out of a slow song to something worthy of black lights. It was learned through trial and error.

But for the most part, my music taste is whatever people suggest to me that I like. Take, for example, Jason Mraz. Arguably one of my most reliable go-to guys for a chill evening or an upbeat day of running errands. Sarah first received his album for her 18th birthday. It was the first music she downloaded onto her new laptop. And if she had never burned me a copy, I probably wouldn't have listened to his full albums (which are exponentially better than the one or two singles he releases from them). And as a result, I went with a group of friends to his concert in Spokane that next fall. It is in this vein I don't have a moral aversion to file sharing. Without the ability to share and swap music, I would miss out on a majority of the music I find inspiring, comforting, or just delightful. I would have missed the crooning of Bethany Dillon, or the sometimes dirty but always grooving John Legend.

But every now and then, I wish I could find the next best thing by my own initiative.