The debatable topic this week asks whether or not music taste can be a dealbreaker in a relationship. The topic was put forth as a light-hearted suggestion, tapping into the vein of Gen Z culture where relationship “icks” are as trivial as how he ties his shoes or whether he calls urine “wee” instead of “pee”. Bad music taste is one of those icks, apparently.
When I put up my hand to argue against it, it was mainly because there weren’t any other takers and I figured I had enough in my arsenal for a 250 word argument in defense of accepting your partner’s imperfections. But I grew more staunch the more I thought about it. It hit a nerve. I’ve often been judged for my music taste (or apparent lack of it) and I know it’s an anxiety many feel, worried about being put down for the tunes that do it for them.
If we’re talking about relationships, getting to know someone’s music taste is not only important to learning the fabric of who they are, it’s also an exercise in tolerance, nuance, and understanding in a world that tries to divide along binary lines of black and white. There’s a wholesome scene in Killing Eve where the main character shares that her favourite music is national anthems with her boyfriend. Rather than judging, or getting the ick where some might have, he gifted her a homemade mixtape of them.
The anxiety that comes with music taste is bullshit. I have a friend who’s so paranoid about having the “right” music taste that she goes incognito mode every time she plays a song that doesn’t belong to her manicured taste on Spotify so that her Wrapped isn’t messed with. (I probably should have done that for my friend whose Spotify I borrowed in an era where I fell asleep to rain noises.) Passing someone the aux is nightmare fuel to many, triggering a wave of anxiety over the impending judgement of their taste.
I argue that music is intimately personal. A person’s music taste paints a portrait of their character. I listen to U2 on roadtrips, especially when I’m homesick; my parents listened to their Joshua Tree album religiously in the car during my childhood. I listen to Lime Cordiale, Mako Road, and The Butlers to immerse myself in the sunny days of summer festivals spent swaying to their surf-rock tunes. I listen to Taylor Swift’s entire discography, admiring her strength of character that the biggest Swifties in my life embody: my childhood best friend and my older sister. I listen to Six60 and think of the excitement of a younger version of myself who had decided to attend the university that birthed the band and bought tickets to the O-Week concert. Only to be told that it wasn’t “cool” to like them, apparently.
A love of music is not something that I’ve ever felt I had a right to. It’s something that I’ve often felt underqualified for, falling short of course requirements because I didn’t grow up listening to The Beatles and I don’t recognise most apparently “iconic” album covers, like the one we replicated in the centrefold. But music taste isn’t objective and I don’t think anyone should be shamed for theirs, let alone have it be used against them as a measurement of their loveability. The world has enough negativity as it is – music should not only be protected but celebrated as an escape to whatever tune you choose.