I think relative artistic merit can be quantified to a degree (Pink Floyd is better than The Starlight Vocal Band) but you're right that there's no accounting for personal taste.

I am right. Everyone else is wrong. If it doesn't rock, it sucks.

I know that my music taste has greatly expanded in the last year or so thanks to things like XM, this forum, and magazines such as MOJO. That is not to say I don't still like some of the Top 40 out there or things from when I was younger, but my musical landscape is much more expansive now including many bands I had never even heard of before. Have him get an XM (or Sirius if you prefer) player and listen to a different station each day. You will be amazed at how much different music you might find that you like.

Yeah, I wasn't talking about personal taste. People can like what they want, and I don't have any problem with that. I just believe that there really is such a things as a truly "well made" movie or song. I like a bunch of crap, especially when it comes to movies, but even though I like certain things I can still sit back and look at it and say that it's not actually well made. I don't know if you know what I mean, but I think it makes sense.

As far as changing someone's taste in music, all you can do is expose them to new and different music. If it sticks then that's great, but if not then it's just not for them. I don't think you can force a change, it's just something that happens.

This would have been a more intresting poll question if you can take a hip-hop rap lover and make them like music period.

It's pretty easy to fake having "good taste" in music. Just dismiss anything that gets any radio play, and the "Tastinistos" will take you into their fold.

Paste magazine is also excellent. And it comes with a sampler CD and DVD in every issue.

Another idea: point him to the "Best of 2006 so far" thread that is stickied at the top of this forum.

Then have him look for albums that seem to be getting a lot of high ratings from people and preview some of the tracks from said artists online (check out their website, myspace page if they have one, iTunes, etc. because one or more of those options ought to provide some samples).

And maybe you'd turn him into a contributor here at DVDTalk!
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Trust me; you don’t want to learn everything about rock and roll. It’s a pain in the ass having a brain filled with worthless trivia about worthless art. It’s impossible to learn more about rock and roll without hating rock and roll more than before. That’s how I became the twisted old monster that I am today: knowing stuff. I used to be a fresh-faced teenage genius, in love with music and in love with the world. Then I started learning more and more; now I see every rock band as an exotic symptom of a diseased culture, and if I could sign some sort of order to have them all thrown in a volcano, I’d do it in an instant.

Luckily, there’s really no actual need to know anything. If you want to impress people with your boundless wit in the field of popular music, all you have to do is convincingly fake it. It’s not hard at all. Just like anything else worth knowing, from tying a necktie to building a nuclear bomb, you can learn to do it just by reading a single stupid article on some two-bit Podunk website. I’ve been watching people do this for years; it’s impossible to have conversations about music frequently without running into quite a few sly bastards who have mastered the art of faking musical knowledge and quite a few more who are at least half-assedly attempting it.

There are a couple of main aspects to seeming more pop-savvy than you really are. First of all, you have to break through the more-indie-than thou barrier: sometimes, people are going to bring up a band that you know nothing about, and you have to be able to beat them at their own game. Secondly, you’re going to have to create an air of pretentious snobbery in order to assert the superiority of your taste (and who would know more about that than me?). Finally, you must fake a sick obsession with some sort of musical cult figure. Once you’ve done these things, you’ll be virtually indistinguishable from someone who actually knows what they’re talking about.

Part One: What to Do When You Don’t Know Anything

If you’re trying to come off like a musical hotshot, people are going to start poking at you a little bit to test your boundaries; it is critically important to know how to deal with this, so I’m putting this section first. If you mess this up somehow, your cover is blown, you’re back to being Ronnie Retard, and you might as well just admit to everyone that you listen to Evanescence.

A) The importance of Double Dare.
Suppose someone says this: “Hey, have you heard of Flop?” Obviously, we’re also going to suppose that you haven’t heard of Flop, because you haven’t. How would you react to this? Your first instinct might be to say “Yeah, I’ve definitely heard of Flop.” This is bad idea for many reasons: first of all, it might be a trick. There might be no such band as Flop. Worse yet, your interrogator might have all manner of follow-up questions about Flop, and they’re going to be increasingly difficult to weasel your way out of. It might also be tempting to say “I’ve heard of them, but I haven’t really heard their records.” This is a wishy-washy compromise, and it’s an essentially meaningless answer. Basically, the only way to win at this game is to play it like Double Dare. You supposedly know everything about music. They ask you about Flop: dare. It’s time to put them on the defensive. “Hmm, Flop… what label were they on?” Double dare. Chances are, they don’t know. For all your opponent knows, you might know all about Flop, but he has failed to give you enough simple information, such as the name of their record label, for you to correctly identify them. Even if your opponent does know what label the band in question was on, you still can’t lose. “Ah yes,” you can say “I am almost certain that I have a compilation released by that label that has a few Flop songs on it.” This at least buys some time; the worst that can happen is that you’ll have to go home and look up Flop on the internet (this is known as the “Physical Challenge”). Your opponent is foiled, and you live another day.

B) Never let a stranger get a handle on what you like.
Next, a significantly more dangerous situation: suppose that someone unfamiliar asks you “So, what bands do you listen to?” Obviously, if you don’t know the person’s taste well enough, you can’t tell him what bands you actually listen to. When you’re faking your knowledge of music, that’s a huge risk; for all you know, the bands you listen to are complete shit in this guy’s eyes. Luckily, there’s a simple way out. Make up a band. This might seem dangerous, but if you do it right it’s a lifesaver. There are, however, a couple of tricks to it. Firstly, the name has to be plausible. Don’t say “The Magnificent Penis Rangers,” because that sounds like a fake band. Don’t say something overly simple, like “The Trolls,” because it’s too likely that it’s actually the name of a real band. Come up with something esoteric and meaningless, like “The Alabaster Swans” or “Cornbread Farm.” No matter how much your opponent knows, he can’t call you on it. What is he going to say? “I know about every band, and Cornbread Farm isn’t one of them!”? All your opponent can do is either acknowledge that he hasn’t heard of Cornbread Farm or press you for more information. This is where the second important aspect of it comes in: have at least a rudimentary biography built up for this band. What years were the active? Try the early Eighties; it’s far enough back that their records might not be out on CD and the internet might come up clean for information on them. What label were they on? Make one up: Catbird records. What sort of music did they make? Mix up a bunch of unrelated terms until you get one that sounds acceptable: proto-shoegaze jangle-pop. If you want to put some icing on the cake, make up a critic who loves them. “Cornbread Farm is actually John Simon Dodge’s favorite band. He talks about them at length in his book.” This will make your opponent feel clueless and poorly read.

Part Two: How to Be a Bastard

Faking factual knowledge of music is one thing, but you haven’t got the complete package until you also know how to be a snob about it. One of the most important aspects of fake snobbery is never to let on that you like anything. You may have noticed in my articles that I rarely admit without bitter sarcasm that I actually like anything; this is because I am a real snob, but faking it isn’t too hard. Remember: conversations about music aren’t really about music, they’re about you. Always steer your conversations toward your own personal taste. In this case “taste” just means “superiority.” You can’t help it if your standards are too high.

A) There’s no such thing as a straight compliment.
Never bring up a band you like without a backhanded compliment. This is extremely useful, because if the person you’re talking to hates the band, they will assume that you’re smart enough to dislike them too. If they like the band, they will assume that you like them a little bit as well, but you’re simply too cool to like them all the way. For example, if you’re the kind of irreparable idiot who listens to Muse, you might say “Muse really have their sound figured out. I guess that happens when you make the exact same record three times.” Even if you enjoy a rock band, you enjoy them despite their glaring flaws.

B) Nothing is as good as it used to be.
Remember: You preferred their first album. They totally sold out. They were better before the original guitarist left. They’re just a rip-off of Big Star anyway. Keep in mind that rock and roll has been in a continuous state of decline for the past 30 years or so. Every band just gets worse and worse until they collapse under the weight of their own failure. Every band is essentially an inferior version of an older band. Even if a band used to be a good, they suck now. They’ve sucked for years. They’ll never get their old spark back. You might as well give up on them, because they’re just a grotesque parody of their former selves. Does this mean you should start liking older rock? Certainly not! Everything made before 1978 is primitive, uncool, and culturally irrelevant.

C) Every genre is artless, boring, lame, or pretentious.
Personally, you can’t understand how anybody could listen to something so tedious, pretentious and masturbatory as progressive rock. Does this mean you prefer punk? No! Punk is for tin-eared plebeians and retarded, politically clueless teenagers. Electronic music is for boring white geeks with no souls. Jam bands are for burned-out stoner hippies. Industrial music is for Dungeons & Dragons-playing social rejects in trench coats.

D) If anyone’s heard of it, it’s crap.
Nothing can possibly get on the radio or on MTV without being watered-down for easy consumption by frat-boys, hicks, and teeny-boppers. Anyone who owns a radio and has it tuned to anything but the local pirate radio station or college station is a reprehensible consumer whore who wouldn’t know art if he ran face-first into Michelangelo’s David. Pop music is for children and yahoos.

E) If nobody’s heard of it, it’s crap.
The kids who do shows on the local pirate radio station or college station are a bunch of idiot scenesters with an infantile and ridiculous fear of pop music. Unable to appreciate pop music on its own terms, they turn instead to tuneless indie crap and ridiculous obscurity pissing-contests. The shit they play has no standard of quality; maybe that’s why only fifty people bought it.

Part Three: Hitching Your Wagon

This aspect of being a fake music geek is perhaps the trickiest and most dangerous part, because it will open you up for criticism. I’d recommend that you stick to the first two sections of this guide for quite some time before you even attempt this, because it’s not for beginners. Basically, you need to find some band or artist with a cult following to fake an obsession with. If you’re in a political party, you have to hitch your wagon to your party’s candidate, despite his flaws. If you’re religious, you have to accept your God despite your doubts. If you’re going to make a convincing music expert, you’re eventually going to have to latch on to a cult figure and defend him or her vehemently at every turn. Don’t ask me why. You just have to. If you don’t have a sick devotion to some strange and inscrutable artist, all the real music geeks will eventually be able to smell your deception. You don’t even necessarily have to pick a good artist, but you have to pick one. Find somebody with a broad and varied body of work, because you’re going to have to at least pretend to own a bunch of their records.

A) Pick an artist of medium obscurity.
Picking the right one is a difficult task, and pretending to like them is going to have its consequences. If you pick a widely-known cult hero like Morrissey or Elvis Costello, you might accidentally meet another fan and have to pretend to know things about the artist. Unless you’ve done your homework, your ignorance will be exposed. If you pretend to like somebody more obscure, like Captain Beefheart or Scott Walker, people may fail to be suitably impressed by your slavish devotion due to their ignorance of the artist’s body of work. I would recommend picking an artist of medium cult status, like Mike Patton of Faith No More and Mr. Bungle; he’s involved in so many worthless side-projects that you could easily evade his fans in a verbal maze of made-up album names and non-existent collaborations.

B) Become frighteningly obsessed.
Once you’ve picked your cult hero, the only thing left to do is bring him up in every single music conversation. Compare every other artist unfavorably to your hero. Lament the fact that your hero has “lost it” and “will probably never get it back,” but express your opinion that his early body of work is enough to counterbalance any mediocre material he may have released later. Your hero is the only one who ever really got it right, and as long as you live you’ll never see another artist like him.

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Many who read my classic article “How to Fake it” clamored for more advice on pretending vast knowledge of rock and roll, but only the cream of the crop are qualified to benefit from any further training. My previous article was a starter guide for those too lazy or smart to actually learn anything about rock and roll, and it was extremely effective in instilling the wiles necessary for an utter beginner to dazzle record-store clerks with his seemingly vast knowledge of music. The advice was so effective, in fact, that it seemed to breed an entire generation of witless, hyper-pretentious musical chauvinists (you’re welcome).

But could a young snob reared on my technique go toe to toe with a true-blue how-do-you-do rock and roll supernerd? Of course not. In the eyes of a zealous pop obsessive, even my tried-and-true techniques would be mere parlor tricks. While my methods of faking musical knowledge could fool 99% of the people 99% of the time, there would always be those who would spot the ruse and bury it under a mountain of horrible, horrible knowledge.

So it is only to my elite readers that I impart the following advice on how to further fake it. These techniques move beyond the realm of mere razzle-dazzle; I daresay they scale the lofty heights of true razzamatazz. To those two or three of you who might be pausing only for the fifteen seconds it takes you to read this column before resuming your mission to kill me, you may pretend that I am grooming you as my successors. To the rest of you, just go ahead and just pretend that I am grooming you like apes, picking the nits out of your scabby hide while you purse your lips and blow contented Bronx cheers.

These concepts are far more abstract than those in the previous column, and cannot be explained in simple directions or bulleted lists, so those of you who only read Something Awful for the bulleted lists would be well advised to give up now and head for the nearest Josh “Livestock” Boruff update.

I: The Personality

The very essence of the musical elitist is the combination of smugness and inscrutability. These two elements instill true music buffs with their veneer of authority and mystery, and learning to fake them is essential if you hope to join the ranks of the elite. Anyone who dares challenge your views will find themselves totally disarmed by the powerful combination these traits bring: they will feel a vague sense of shame for questioning someone so sure of himself, and they will almost certainly panic when they realize that they can’t get any kind of handle on your personal taste.

How inscrutable must you be? Think of the most inscrutable thing you can imagine: the Sphinx? The universe? Morrissey? Nay, you must be more mysterious still.

The number one rule of musical inscrutability is to carefully flout the conventional notions of what’s good and bad. Pretending to hate good music is easy enough, especially to those who read the first installment of How to Fake It. Pretending to like bad music, which may occasionally be necessary, is a little trickier. If you fail, you’ll just wind up looking like a philistine with terrible taste, or even worse, an ironist. You can’t merely prance around telling everyone The Beatles are terrible and Kelly Clarkson is great; you have to dress it up a little. Talk about stupid music in meaninglessly erudite terms: “Def Leppard brilliantly conveyed the foundation of existential despair which necessarily lurks beneath a life of hedonism.” “If Foucault were alive today, he would undoubtedly listen to Hoobastank.”

Occasionally, you must vehemently disagree with conventional wisdom and critical consensus. There’s a persuasive counterargument to everything, and if you can think on your feet, it’s possible to refute even the most ironclad rock notions. Everyone knows, for example, that the Rolling Stones have lost it. Not you! You think they’re better than ever! “The Rolling Stones do our culture a much greater service now, as a commentary on the West’s insecurity about age, than they ever did as a bland young rock outfit.” Be confident of your fake opinions, because the bullshit detectors built into music snobs are like mild polygraph tests. If you’re worried that thinking on your feet might take too much actual knowledge, don’t be ashamed to prepare your opinions in advance.

Most people who try to fake musical expertise do so only by not admitting that they like anything. While that’s a good start, it’s also an eventual dead-end. It’s equally important to your inscrutability to be cagy about what you don’t like. Be quick to defend even the most worthless pop music, and do so completely without irony. If someone quite reasonably complains that the Ying Yang Twins are medically verifiable retards, scold them as if they’ve just called Martin Luther King Jr. an ape. Not only will this pull the rug out from under any rational person, but it will create an air of superior liberal open-mindedness toward all varieties of music.

The ultimate goal of all this isn’t simply to have something good to say about anything bad and something bad to say about anything good. The goal is to make your taste and opinions completely baffling, unpredictable and impenetrable. Being ridiculous and contrary all the time might just make you look insane, so don’t overdo it. Engage in normal, civil conversations about music and then spring a bizarre opinion on your adversary like a mental rat trap. Make sure you pepper your lies with the truth: defend universally panned albums by critically beloved artists, like Neil Young’s “Trans” or Lou Reed’s “Metal Machine Music.” Say you like Bob Dylan, but only for his voice, not his lyrics.

If your inscrutability is convincing enough, smugness is easy to fake. Always remember that you’re the expert. Your opinions are the correct ones, no matter how bizarre. As I mentioned in the previous installment, always steer the conversation toward your own opinions.

II: The Grand Declaration

Speaking in grand declarations is an excellent way to be smug. Every sentence you utter is an expression of some well-thought-out conviction which you demand to share with the world. Say everything emphatically and then look around to see if anyone has written it down so they can quote you later. You might think that grand declarations are risky, but if handled properly they’re as tame as kittens. Here’s a handy guide:

Wrong: “Matchbox 20 was better than the Beatles.”
While it may be tempting to make grandiose claims just to court controversy, you’d only be shooting yourself in the foot. A declaration like this just invites questions like “by what standard?” and “are you an idiot?” Remember that controversy isn’t the goal. The goal is simply to impress upon those around you that you are a person with Big Ideas.

Right: “At his best, Robyn Hitchcock was every bit as good as Bob Dylan.”
While not as risky or controversial as the previous one, a declaration like this is plenty bold. You are basically saying “yes, I am in the position to include or exclude artists from the critical canon at my whim.” Canonizing random artists is a perfect way to establish authority, even if the person to whom you’re talking has never even heard of the artist in question.

Wrong: “The Clash was better than The Sex Pistols.”
A statement like this is simply comparing apples to apples, and at least 50% of the population would be inclined to agree with it. It’s merely an opinion, not a grand declaration.

Right: “The Smiths were better than The Sex Pistols.”
Unlike the Matchbox 20/Beatles comparison, this one involves two entirely dissimilar bands with a similar level of critical acclaim. Although both bands are firmly entrenched in the canon, most people wouldn’t bother comparing them, since there’s no particular logic or point to it. But such concerns need not deter you, for it is your god-given right to hierarchically file bands however you see fit.

Wrong: “Magazine was the best band of all time.”
Such a declaration is bold and tempting, but once again it is too controversial and might require some form of actual support. “Best-of-all-time” claims are to be avoided, because they’re a sure-fire way to start an argument you can’t win.

Right: “Magazine is one of the ten best bands of all time.”
This cleverly circumvents the pitfalls of a best-of-all-time claim while at the same time implying that you’ve figured out exactly what the ten best bands of all time are. In most cases you won’t be pressed to reveal your entire list, because people involved in music discussions don’t actually care what other people think, they’re merely concerned about the politics of domination and submission.

III: The Barometer

If you’re going to convey an impression that you’ve got everything figured out, you need to remember that every band or artist in history is either underrated or overrated. Only you are the true arbiter of how to correctly rate any given band, since you are immune to the hype, nostalgia, and politics that make up the critical reputation of a musical act. Within you is the single flawless barometer that reveals the true quality of every band in the universe. Make sure to use it whenever possible, for it is a mainstay of smugness.

In keeping with your persona, it goes without saying that you need to be perfectly inscrutable about your over/under barometer. Remember not to go for the obvious choices.

What’s Underrated:
Saying that a band is underrated is a good way to advance them for consideration in the critical canon (which, of course, you control). As a benevolent dictator, it is wise and just to allow a fair number of underdogs and obscure indie bands into your hallowed halls of underrating, but you must also throw caltrops in the path of those trying to get a handle on your taste by admitting some odd ones, too. Sammy Hagar? Underrated. Michael Bolton? Underrated. What’s even more confusing is to accord underrated status to extremely well-liked bands. Nothing confuses your adversaries like calling The Beatles or Jimi Hendrix underrated. It’ll spin their heads. They’ll have no choice but to think you’re two steps ahead of them.

What’s Overrated:
Anything liked by anyone but you is overrated. Keep in mind that there are unlimited degrees of overrating, and you can employ them based on how much you want to offend and belittle others. If you’ve got a clean shot at some goofball liking Nirvana, don’t hesitate to point out that they’re disgustingly overrated. He knows that they are. He won’t be able to argue; you’ve got him cold. However, if someone mentions liking an underground favorite like Television or The Velvet Underground, you’d be treading on thin ice to claim that their critical acclaim is unwarranted. Instead, you can use the most devious trick in the smug bastard handbook: “They’re definitely good, yeah. But a little overrated.” Checkmate!

Kettle, meet pot.

In my experience, these are two completely different goals.

A "wider appreciation of new music" requires a concerted effort to find venues that have a genuine interest in promoting said music. XM is probably the easiest route to take, since it doesn't require being in the proximity of a computer with internet access so that he can listen to audio streams.

On the other hand, "being able to mingle with girls" requires nothing more than turning on an FM radio and listening to whatever digitalfreaknyc and his ilk foist upon the clueless masses. Two hours each day should suffice, as he should be able to hear the current hits at least three times daily during that time span.

wait... there are girls with a good taste in music? where?? I've been looking for these girls all my life!