Taste

My friends are an opinionated lot, and I received renewed proof of this, as if I needed it, while eating ice cream at La Michoacana on Sunday evening. It was chilly so we sat in my car, and I plugged in the smart phone to play some music. The fellow next to me, who has a serious grown-up day job investing people's money but also plays guitar in a band, scrolled through my music list and started critiquing it.
"Down to the Waterline" by Dire Straits and "Waiting on a Friend" received high marks ("best song the Rolling Stones have done in 30 years"); George Harrison post-Beatles drew a frown; I was informed that Rod Stewart just cannot sing, whether it's "Handbags and Glad Rags" or the Great American Songbook; he had heard good things about the Canadian singer-songwriter Ron Sexsmith and the late Amy Winehouse and would have to investigate further.
But then he came across "Uptown Girl" by Billy Joel. Judging by the look of contempt on his face I thought my poor Android was going to be hurled out the window.
"That's not music!" he cried.
I tried to mollify him by downloading a song by the Bonzo Dog Band (you can crib off the library's Wifi in the parking lot!) but I'm not at all sure that it worked.