Pop Culture Confessional is a weekly column where our writers can divulge and indulge in their most deeply embarrassing cultural passion — and then tell you why it actually rocks. Everyone has a few dirty little secrets. Only the truth shall set us free.

Reality on Dragonforce. Photo by author.

It all started with a game of Guitar Hero II. A friend of mine had just picked up a copy of the game and I was eager to try it out. However, as we worked through our first virtual “set list,” my disappointment grew. In the absence of good hard rock songs there were strange and unfamiliar metal and prog rock songs. I was not pleased.

For the big encore, we were presented with a song called “YYZ” by the holy trinity, Rush. I had heard of this song before; I knew it had a cult following amongst certain geeky circles and that it was voted best bass performance of all time. The song was obscure from the start: a strange percussive tone chimed out like Morse code in a 10/8 time signature. Soon the bass and guitar matched the pattern with terrifying tritones — a musical interval once associated with the devil. I can’t recall my exact reaction, but it went something like:

“What the **** is the deal with all these ****ing progressive rock songs in this stupid ****ing game!! Why do all these metal dorks love this **** so ****ing much!? How about a normal classic rock song once in a ****ing while? Why can’t the ****heads who make this game license a real ****ing song!!!” I was furious.

But this was over a year ago, and “YYZ” by Rush has consistently appeared on my iPod’s “Recently Played” playlist ever since.

This love-hate phenomenon seems inexplicable, but it has happened more and more ever since. My cynical nature gets me into these situations where a song would so incense me that I would show it to people as a joke, cursing its ridiculousness, and ye the more I listened to it out of anger…the more I wanted to listen to it. My hatred slowly waned and I began to see the better qualities of the song. I noticed how funky it was. There was room in my heart for Rush instrumentals after all.

These paranomal happenings pursued me in the coming months. I started listening to darker metal acts like Buckethead and Iron Maiden. I started playing bass like Les Claypool of Primus (of the South Park theme song), one of the strangest musical acts around. It seemed the more I laughed at the insanity of a certain over-the-top group, the more they caught my interest. Before long, I picked up a bright red Ibanez guitar and a vintage Metallica “Ride the Lightning” shirt with a skeleton in the electric chair. I was changing attitudes.

Still, I had trouble accepting my newfound interests and how unclean this music made me feel. I would go to temple on the high holidays listening to songs like “The Number of the Beast” by Iron Maiden. I put on power metal bands like Dragonforce during my walks to school. No matter how terrible “Through the Fire and the Flames” is, it still turned every morning into an adventure (and cut about five minutes off of my walk time). I’ll never forget when my friend asked, “should I be worried that you are listening to this kind of music?” Yes, probably.

Nowadays, I listen to songs like these in half-seriousness and I embrace the strangeness of my ways. But who can really determine the difference between loving a song and loving to hate one? Musical inhibitions can crumble away faster than a Steve Vai guitar solo. Just how many times can I Rickroll my friends with a link to Slayer’s “Raining Blood” or Dream Theater’s “Panic Attack” before it’s no longer a joke?

I believe my story has a moral: Don’t worry too much about what you listen to, how you should feel about it and what others think of it. All you need to remember is that the only bad music to listen to is no music at all.

And Miley Cyrus.