Suppose, if you were of radio-listening age in 1963, you disliked the productions of Phil Spector. Say you believed him to make all the singers on his records sound the same, and that in any case Dean Martin or Bukka White represented real music. With hindsight, would you not say that you were on the wrong side of history?
My drummer once said, “Two Les Pauls, locked tight through a Marshall stack, makes my dick hard.” For me, it’s a tight vocal harmony. And so, generally speaking, at least two or three tunes from any of Sheryl Crow’s six albums cannot miss.
When trying to figure out how how important, or unimportant, pop music has become, one of the problems you run into is differentiating between music being discussed as art and entertainment, and music being discussed as a sort of hobby for celebrities. A creepy article about Madonna on Tina Brown’s new blog thing is a good working definition of the latter, and the audio clip accompanying it is just plain odd.