Believe in a Ghost

Halloween doesn’t arrive for another three months, but I already have a ghost story.

This tale requires no dark room and flashlight, and it’s about a band, not a goblin. A couple of months ago, my co-worker Oscar, with whom I talk music almost daily, introduced me to Swedish rock band Ghost. I admit that I had heard of Ghost by name and seen their gothic-campy album covers when I briefly worked at a local mom and pop CD store. Yet I hadn’t listened to them.

Oscar had me check out “Square Hammer,” a track from the band’s 2016 EP Popestar. I was hooked. Take soaring melodies, a crunchy rhythm section, heavy metal energy, pop song craftsmanship and then add an enigmatic frontman in over-the-top makeup with a penchant for Haunted House cartoonish animation. The band members all wear masks, and the lyrics are bombastic, inscrutable and macabre. What’s not to like?

I ordered the Popestar CD, as well as 2015’s Meliora album. A new Ghost fan was born.

But this isn’t about Ghost. This is about the subjectivity of musical tastes. Music, like all art forms, shines in the eyes (or ears, as it were) of the beholder. Yet music, more so than any other art form, is especially primed for scrutiny, snobbishness, and ridicule. It frequently becomes a “this way or no way” argument. It invites bullying, even.

Why? I’ve never understood that, and I spent 25 years writing and critiquing music professionally for major newspapers.

There are no rights and wrongs when it comes to musical tastes. Damn the hipsters and the know-it-alls. Ignore the fanatics and the star sycophants. Music is all shades of gray. What brings people to the musical table is different each time. Even when you have two disparate people who happen to like the same band or singer, the reasons and backgrounds are usually completely different.

An example: I’ve never been a huge rap music fan. What little rap I do like ended in, say, 1993. Oscar, my Ghost-wielding co-worker, is a big fan of today’s rap – from Kendrick Lamar to Joey Bada$$. While I can see why Oscar likes them, even appreciate their way with the mic, I have no interest. It’s not my taste. I’m a singers guy. I come from the old school of ‘70s disco, ‘80s synth-pop and artists that took me to another realm with their voices, their melodies, and their rhythmic passion.

That’s another thing: Music is generational. I grew up in the ‘70s and ‘80s, so that music is near and dear to my heart. It shaped my tastes. I could sit here and tell you that today’s music sucks in my best “Get off my lawn!” old man hollering. I could try to convince you that teens and 20-somethings are worshipping tunes pieced together by tech-savvy studio wizards who gainfully pack everything plus the kitchen sink into a compressed audio file they think will keep multi-taskers paying attention.

Do I believe this? Yes. Does it mean anything? No. My opinion of today’s music, or any era’s music, is strictly my own. It is formulated from my vantage point, from my sensibilities, from my shade of gray. This doesn’t make your shade of gray any less valid. Never ever let anybody pressure you into admitting you like a band or a style of music as your “guilty pleasure.” If that music gives you pleasure, you shouldn’t feel guilty about it. Period.

I’m always fascinated by musical tastes. For me it speaks volumes about the person doing the liking. And I always want to know why. Why is Oscar a fan of Kendrick Lamar? Why am I drawn to Ghost, especially when those that know me well might be surprised that I could dig the sound of a campy, faux-devil-worshipping, wink-wink melodic metal band?

That, my friends, is the real fun dialogue. Our musical tastes say a lot about us. They are windows for getting to know the person, not tools for mockery.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go conjure up a Ghost.