There’s one moment every one of us has encountered: You’re sitting in the car, seatbelt on and ready to gaze out the window, when you’re suddenly presented with the holy grail of a car ride. “Take the aux,” someone says, and in an anxiety-inducing turn of events, you’re granted the great power and responsibility of setting the vibe. Sweat beads down your spine, your thoughts zip through your head. Which playlist do you open? Rap? Generic pop? Or are your passengers the kind of people who’d appreciate the underground indie scene more and call you “basic” for playing Travis Scott? Is it the “sing aloud” kind of vibe or more of a “stare at the trees outside in introspective silence” kind of mood? You’re panicking now. People are staring at you expectantly. Okay, okay, process of elimination. Which playlist should you not pick? Definitely not the Disney one you sing along to in the shower. Or the one filled exclusively with TikTok songs. After thoughtful deliberation, you pick a song, finally, and then from the corner of your eye try to gauge the audience’s reactions. Maybe some people nod along or mouth the words — you know your music taste has passed the test. Even better, someone proclaims they love this song and demands that it get turned up. Sweet validation. The worst that could happen? Blank looks passed around, quizzical head-cocks and then a gentle, “Wanna pass over the aux?” Blew it.
Why is sharing our music taste such a vulnerable experience? I’ve texted specific songs to friends asking them to take a listen and waited with bated breath for their replies. The exchange is even worse in person, as you attempt to decipher if they actually like the song or if they’re just trying to be polite. Why is it so important to us that the music we love is acknowledged and accepted by others? And why do we sometimes feel embarrassed for enjoying the music we do? I overheard a girl at Panera passionately defending herself: “No, I don’t really listen to Taylor Swift, it’s just a few songs, it’s my guilty pleasure…” And why are some so quick to judge? The musically-superior crowd who sniffs at anything in the country’s top 100 hits, the lot who say rap music isn’t real music (“They only mumble nowadays!”) or the “I was born in the wrong generation” gang who listen to Queen on vinyl are all so quick to roll their eyes at others. Controversy exists within all different genres, like the constant battle between the “Taylor Swift is overrated and only writes about her exes” team and the “she is Mother Goddess who can do no wrong” team. It’s easy to see why we feel so judged in voicing our music taste; opinions and biases constantly buzz around, heavily influencing personal perception.
Moreover, the crowd you cater to definitely affects the music you choose to play. I’ve faced more outrage from a car full of guys when playing a love song like “Love Me Harder” than would ever be demonstrated if I played “Kim” by Eminem. (Which, I might add, is a song about him graphically killing his own mother.) Everyone is consciously or subconsciously coding themselves for the perception of their audience. Depending on genders, backgrounds or races of the listeners, the aux will connect to a different song on my phone. For some, this phenomenon could be reduced to something as little as making their audience comfortable, but for others it goes deeper, into an indirect assimilation leading to a lack of self-expression. If someone asks me which artists I like listening to, I usually respond with The Weeknd and Eminem. And while it is true that I love these artists, the most-played artist on my Apple Music for the past three years has been popular Hindi playback singer Arijit Singh. I rarely ever mention him to my American friends, let alone play his songs when I’m with them. If my friends ever do tell me to play some Indian music, I gravitate towards playing artists like AP Dhillon — rappers singing to beats that would sound familiar to my white friends, who use words like “Gucci” or “Kardashian” in every few lines. I aim to provide some factor of relatability, and in that, probably do my friends a disservice.
When I catch myself playing inauthentic music on aux, I wonder how else or in what other capacities beyond music I’m changing or shaping myself in order to fit in. Are there aspects of my personality that I mask in the same way I skip over entire playlists that I love? There must be other facets of myself that I subconsciously hide or push away to increase the ease with which I can melt into society and friendships. An accent that’s too strong, funny half-English words and trashy Indian-reality cinema were all cleared away as soon as I moved here, like a tablecloth being yanked off the table. We all, of course, project a curated image of ourselves to others, and that projection changes depending on who are the said others.
Regardless of my desire to coalesce with my audience, I also believe that I have different authentic versions of myself with different people. Everyone acts slightly different with their college friends versus the friend group they’ve had since elementary school versus a group of favorite cousins. Maybe playing different songs for all of them is an extension of who I am when I’m around them. Does that make me some sort of social chameleon?
Playing music that we genuinely love for other people is scary because musical taste, like all art we enjoy, is a part of our identity. In the same vein, many derive self-worth from their choices of art; be it religiously following a TV show or a fashion style. An insult to the art you enjoy is an insult to your judgment, your taste, even your worldview. Art sinks deeply into your heart and becomes a part of who you are. When someone judges it, they judge that part of you along with it. The fear that someone you care about could scoff at a song you relate to or sing in the car on the way to work may push some people to hide a specific part of themselves. What kind of music do people use private playlists for on Spotify? Maybe for some who don’t want to show their religious side, it’s an album of gospel music. For those who don’t want to admit that they listen to country music, it’s Morgan Wallen. Private playlists allow us to hide parts of ourselves that we’re not yet ready to reveal to the world.
However, I’ve come to a rather ironic realization: I never judge people around me as harshly as I assume they will judge me. If a friend plays me a song they’re excited about, it wouldn’t cross my mind to make fun of it at her expense. Many of the songs on my own playlists, in fact, have been introduced to me by friends. We are our own worst critics in that sense. Life is short, and there is so much music to explore in such little time. So if I hand you the aux, play something you love. It can be something whacky like medieval folk rock or metal sea shanties. Maybe a local Spanish rapper you follow or an up-and-coming international DJ. And, of course, if Taylor’s your hero, let her music blast.
If musical taste is a part of someone’s identity, learning to understand someone else’s taste is a way to understand them on a deeper level. And if you’re handed the aux, it shows a level of trust. Maybe reciprocate that trust and have faith that your audience will be open to what you like listening to. I’m not saying to be unreasonable: You should not blast Baby Shark for more than a minute on a road trip. But be easy and be genuine. Take requests, play some of your own songs and some that everyone can sing along to as well. And you never know — maybe a song of your choice will be someone else’s gateway into a new genre, artist or even language. (This very much happened to me; thank you to whoever played that one Måneskin song that I Shazamed so quickly. I’m heavily invested in this Italian rock band now.) All this to say, the fear of judgment is often worse than the judgment itself. Revealing these small bits of our identity will undoubtedly help us forge deeper, more authentic bonds.
Statement Columnist Myrra Arya can be reached at myrra@umich.edu.