If you could sing along I would be happier

I started this blog on the premise of discussing, ranting, and postulating about popular music, good and bad. I'm as bad as the rest of them - I read Pitchfork, I prefer small venues that make you stink of stale beer, the faint memory of vomit and tons of cigarette smoke, I read Skyscraper, I've been to a Vice party or seven. I went to art school, for god's sake. In New York. I know how to be snobby. However, within that lurks a secret (okay, now not-so-secret) lover of pop music, a recently-outed radio listener. And now? I have no shame. I love it all.

I suppose this part of me is why I've always been an Anglophile musically for most of my life. There, pop music really does mean "popular music", and not necessarily a genre to pass judgement on. Because of a smaller population and therefore a smaller buyers' market, music that would be considered "indie rock", or generally just under the radar in the US, makes the charts. People, even regular casual music fans, are somewhat more passionate and opinionated about music. People still buy singles. Sure, it's flash-in-the-pan and cynical with quick overturn, but at least it's exciting.

So I'm writing here to expose and discuss both sides of music - the muso, pretentious, analytical side, and just general, visceral enjoyment. I might talk about Grizzly Bear. I might talk about Fergie. I might talk about Justice. I might talk about Rhianna. I might talk about Engelbert Humperdink. You get the picture.

Hi.