And the first time
That You opened Your eyes did You realize that You would be my Savior?
And the first breath that left Your lips
Did You know that it would change this world forever?

And so this Christmas I’ll compare the things I felt in prior years
To what this midnight made so clear
That You have come to meet me here”

It took me a while to start enjoying classical Christmas tunes, like Silent Night and It Came Upon a Midnight Clear. I loved it when my favourite bands wrote their own Christmas songs. Some of my long-time favourites were the Newsboys “Adoration,” Tobymac’s “This Christmas,” and probably the first one I heard, Rich Mullins’ “Gotta Wake Up.”

But when I heard this song by Relient K a few years ago, it threw every other Christmas song into the mud. The lyrics are Relient K’d usual outstanding poetry, and the melody is beautiful. The song is almost completely piano, something Relient K doesn’t do too much… but it’s surprisingly stunning. And while all these things have always been what make up my ideal type of music, it was the meaning of the song that blew me away.

Most Christmas songs tell the traditional story of Jesus in the manger. Don’t get me wrong, that is a great thing to sing about, and probably the most important event in history. However, after over 2000 years of Christmas music, you can only be so original. Other songs may tell a less specific story of the true meaning of Christmas; giving, loving, forgiving, thankfulness, and coming together. But this song was so different.

“To look back and think that
This baby would one day save me
In the hope that what You did
That you were born so I might really live
To look back and think that
This baby would one day save me”

It’s easy to imagine how the shepherds felt when they were visited by the angels. These lowly shepherds had nothing. Nothing to own, nothing to believe in. It must have been so easy for such poor kind to believe that someone had truly come in the form of a baby to save them. But what about the others? What about the three wise men? They were truly three of the most important people in the country at the time, and yet they not only traveled an immense distance to see a poor baby in a manger, they VOLUNTEERED. They brought three of the most important resources to a baby wrapped in rags born to a carpenter and his teenaged wife. I recently saw a cartoon that reenacted the wise men visiting the newborn Jesus. Joseph had said “Why are you giving frankincense to a baby? He’s just gonna put it in his mouth!” I laughed at the time, and I hate to turn every comical scene into a complex spiritual metaphor, but today, on Christmas Day, I realized how silly these gifts must have seemed to the people who didn’t know. Really, who WOULD give frankincense to a baby? Especially as rare and valuable as it was at the time. But these three wise men brought three gifts that were as sacrificial as physical gifts can get.

Anyone today who heard that a Messiah was born in, say, Bastrop, Texas, they would laugh, and THEN demand proof. Even if it were inspired upon them by divine revelation, hardly would they travel out to the middle of nowhere just to hope a real Messiah was there, much less to bring him pure platinum jewelry or a $100,000 Mercedes-Benz. Not a businessman, not a hobo, not Bill Gates. Yet these three men who were some of the richest in the country brought everything they owned to this baby that they had no certain proof was the Son of God. Gold, frankincense, myrrh, and love. Where has that kind of faith gone? The kind of faith that not only lowly shepherds had for their salvations, but the faith that the kinga and rulers of the nations had that they would bring all their earthly possessions AND their hearts to a tiny baby that could have been a rumour.

And as this song says, I really do wonder whether Jesus knew what He was born for the day he was born. I wonder even more if he personally remembered the nearly priceless gifts the three wise men gave Him. I wonder if He knew who those wise men were, who those shepherds were. I wonder if He knew who you and I were, or that He was going to grow into an adult only to die a terrible death for us, people he had never met and never would physically meet.

As time has passed, peoples’ faith has slowly disintegrated, and still is disintegrating as we speak. Yet, I know without seeing Him, without Angels to tell me, and even without some divine revelation that He would do it all again even if I were the only one to ever believe.

“And I, I celebrate the day
That You were born to die
So I could one day pray for You to save my life”

Merry Christmas everyone.
From me, personally, and universally from your Savior.

It’s a reality that caught me by surprise this month. For a whole year, I had listened to music at every available moment – before school, while doing homework, while driving – but had taken in shockingly few of the sounds 2008 had to offer. I had filled my iPod with albums that are older than I am, gathered secondhand vinyl at junk stores, and gravitated toward radio stations with a taste for “the classics.” Meanwhile, I hadn’t bought enough new albums to fill a “top ten” list. O, I had sinned.

Why had I failed so miserably to keep up with the musical times? Certainly, it wasn’t for want of interest. Just as I believe that “old” music should never be discarded on grounds of age, I hold no prejudice against the new offerings of the music world. My list of excuses for largely neglecting new music is long and mundane: I’m too busy. I still need to hear all the classics before I can immerse myself in the contemporary sounds they inspired. It’s okay if I’m not buying new albums, as long as I’m hearing new songs on the radio.

Indeed, as an avid FM radio listener, I pay special attention to new songs that grace the airwaves of my favorite stations. WFUV, the station that is practically my home on the radio dial, habitually plays new music alongside older material. Sure, my taste in modern music does not always coincide with that of WFUV’s programmers. Coldplay, for example holds little appeal for me, and I find Death Cab For Cutie positively cringe-worthy. Still, I have heard some excellent new songs on the radio this year: David Byrne and Brian Eno sound inspired on the singles from their recent collaboration Everything That Happens Will Happen Today, while The Knux’s hit “Cappuccino” is a welcome return to the vitality of hip-hop’s distant past. But I can say nothing about the albums these songs come from, because I did not buy them.

The time-tested theory behind radio exposure is that when I, the listener, find a new single pleasing, I will buy the corresponding album. When this process works as intended, all involved parties win: artists and record companies get paid for their music, radio stations maintain loyal audiences, and consumers find music that speaks to them. It is time for me to renew my participation in this universally beneficial relationship.

I am making a New Year’s resolution to stop making myself content with albums from the past and singles from the present. I will never abandon the music of years gone by, but in 2009 I will make it a priority to live in the musical moment. When I hear a song that I can connect with, I will take the next step and buy the album. And a year from now, I hope, I will have a selection to offer for 2009’s Album of the Year.

“Real” music. What is it? Is “real” music good lyrics, a good tune, good vocals, or putting ’soul’ into it? I’m an alternative rock lover, and if I’m gonna be dead honest, I can’t stand pop, hip-hop, blues, or (god forbid) country. AT ALL. So shoot me if you don’t agree, but in my world pop music is just a bunch of cookie-cutter wannabes jumping around on stage in front of a crowd of squealing little girls WISHING they were real rock stars. Now, before you open fire, I’ve been told (many more times that I care to count) that this isn’t exactly true. To some people pop music is just a more carefree, fun-loving kind of dancing music. And to those people rock, alternative rock, emo and (god forbid them) metal music are all just a bunch of depressed guys screaming in a microphone, trying WAY too hard to be edgy, WISHING they were the people up on stage in front of millions of fans. And hey, how should I know? But the point is, I think MY music is the “real” music, and every other person in the world probably thinks that THEIR music is the “real” music. So what, dare I ask, is the “fake” music? The young pop stars? The emo rockers? The old has-been playing 50’s music? And if we all disagree, does that make everyone right, or everyone wrong? Someone’s taste in music is like catching a glimpse into their soul: they might be fun and bubbly, or dark and deep, or maybe even quirky and old-fashioned. But for crying out loud people, who really cares! I have had person after person tell me that my favorite band (Three Days Grace) is nothing but a band of posers trying to be all moody and deep. Well maybe I love bands like that for all you know! Shouldn’t the fact that we all love music in the first place be able to create some sort of, I don’t know, bond? It shouldn’t matter WHAT music, only that each and every one of us feels something deep inside us when words are brought to life through a melody, something bigger than any of us could ever know. So it’s not about what music is “real” or “fake”, it’s how the music is brought to life in your mind. It becomes a part of you, however big or small that part is, and from that day forth you will share a sliver of a connection with every other person who felt the emotion that you did in that song. Becuase in the end, it’s music. No catagories, no stereotypes, no seperations. Just music, pure and simple.

But, like any other enduring species, the TV-produced music star was bound to evolve. Over 40 years after the Monkees first rocked the living room TV set, the music industry is still discovering new ways to turn fake artists into real money. While the Monkees’ success banked on smart, enduring pop songs as much as their on-screen personas, it is now possible to sell millions of records purely on the strength of meticulously calculated marketing. And where music publishing was once the domain of a few dedicated music labels, none of these now seem able to keep up with the Disney Channel.

With High School Musical and Hannah Montana, Disney took two seemingly innocent television productions and turned them into record-smashing phenomena. The High School Musical soundtrack outsold any other record last year in the United States, with the companion CD to this year’s High School Musical 2 also tearing up the charts. Hannah’s no commercial slouch, either; her “Best of Both Worlds” concert tour was last year’s hottest ticket, having sold out even faster than perennial road-king Bruce Springsteen. Want a prime ticket for one of Hannah’s shows when the tour stops in New Jersey? Nine thousand dollars on the ticket-scalping site StubHub should do it.

Disney’s key to manufacturing such unprecedented musical stardom for their TV characters is simple: know your audience. After years of creating shows for the pre-teen market, Disney knows just how to craft the kind of characters and plotlines that have turned the American youth into the world’s token couch potatoes. Add the right sprinkling of sing-along anthems, and an epidemic of obsession is born. It’s only logical, then, that fans of the TV shows will be happy to spend their allowance dollars on “albums” of songs from favorite episodes.

For the future of popular music, the implications of Disney-generated music transcend the contents of your sister’s iPod. Where fictional pop acts of yesterday were content to pay clever homage to their musical heroes, those of today are poised to stand aside them. For legions of young Americans, Hannah Montana is every bit as “real” as any other artist; her origins as a TV persona only add to her stature as a pop music icon. Meanwhile, countless off-screen musical talents continue to garner audiences but find themselves confined to a particular demographic of fans. Even those who score major hits are generally unable to cross the borders of generation and subculture.

Older music lovers may look upon all this with despair, ruing the day when Hollywood learned to corrupt the youthful idea of artistry. But have the Monkees of yesteryear truly evolved into chart-hoarding monsters? Or has the traditional music industry let its once-great circus of top artists degenerate into a sleepy petting zoo?

Despite the ongoing decline of record sales, today’s labels are unwilling to take the kind of bold, adventurous risks that once made popular music so vital and exciting. Top radio stations are content to play the same predictable sounds ad nauseam, while the most inventive acts have no greater champion than college radio. For the first time, millions of teens are losing patience with today’s hits and turning to the stars of their parents’ generation. When the music business seems bored with itself, it should hardly come as a surprise that the youngest listeners don’t feel compelled to stick with “real” artists.

Fundamentally, Hannah Montana and the cast of High School Musical are scarcely different from their predecessors. The use of TV characters to sell simple pop tunes has been central to every TV-produced musical act since the Monkees. How, then, did these adolescent stars overtake the position once reserved for the most elite musical talents? The answer has little to do with the performers themselves. Rather, the sickly music business has become so feeble and uninspired that an innocent gimmick is now enough to conquer its top position. It’s a reality that the dominance of fictional music in the mainstream has gotten out of hand. But if the music industry hopes to regain its footing on both commercial and artistic ground, it has bigger problems than Hannah Montana to face.

If you wanted to survive the month of December without ever hearing a holiday tune, you would need to make some severe lifestyle changes. You couldn’t walk into a grocery store or a coffee shop, or even along the sidewalk of a commercial street. You’d have to plug your ears and run at the sight of pedestrians in groups, for these might be carolers. Television, of course, would be strictly off limits. And you wouldn’t dare touch your FM radio dial.

And for all that effort, you’d earn yourself a reputation as a social pariah. To most Americans, it would seem bizarre that anyone would want to avoid holiday music. Aversion to Christmastime fervor – Scroogism, if you will – is considered about as foreign to American culture as ritual foot binding. A real American, we are taught, has the warmth of heart to partake in the wholesome Christmas Spirit, and accordingly-themed music is part of the package.

Of all the types of conformity American society expects, this may be the one I find toughest to abide. It surely doesn’t help that I identify as a Jew, but what really stands between me and the Christmas Spirit is my distaste for the sonic trash that pollutes my musical environment this time of year. And though I do my best to judge all songs with a fair and open mind, I have grown convinced that holiday music is uncommonly derivative and predictable. Over the years, I have formulated the following categories for the easy classification of all holiday songs:

1. Winter Weather – Paradoxically, many holiday songs have little to do with an actual holiday. Instead, they espouse the defining meteorological feature of winter – namely, snow – and all the fun it entails. This category happens to include several of the most popular holiday songs of all time: “Jingle Bells,” “Winter Wonderland,” and Bing Crosby’s enduring smash “White Christmas.”

2. Santa Claus – Old Saint Nick may not be real, but you wouldn’t know it from the volume of pop music written in his honor. For the sake of convenience, we will classify all songs about reindeer in this category by association. Familiar examples: “Santa Claus is Coming to Town,” “Little Saint Nick,” and “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”

3. Christmas Wishes – These most generic of songs have so little thematic substance that they can do nothing more than simply wish us a Merry Christmas. Think I’m exaggerating? Consider the following: “Feliz Navidad,” “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.”

4. Jesus – He may be the birthday boy, but the actual airtime devoted to Christmas songs about Jesus is comparatively slim. The best-known ones tend to be old seasonal hymns that predate the advent of recorded music, such as “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” and “Silent Night.”

5. Christmas as Proxy for Something Else – Record executives know that for two months a year, they can shove anything down America’s collective throat, so long as it contains the word “Christmas.” So we get listless, formulaic pop that uses Christmas as a front for something even more mundane, like a run-of-the-mill love affair or a child’s dental woes. Instructive in the phenomenon: “All I Want For Christmas Is You,” “All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth,” and Jimmy Buffet’s wretched “Christmas In The Caribbean.”

6. Christmas as Comedy: Snobs like me enjoy making a mockery of Christmas music, but a few recording artists have beaten us to the punch. Weird Al Yankovic won laughs as usual with “The Night Santa Went Crazy,” but it’s hard not to feel a little sorry for Dr. Elmo, whose sole claim to fame is the omnipresent “Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer.”

7. Hanukah Songs – So far, Kwanza has been spared the trivializing effect of pop songs in the Christmas mold. Hanukah, sadly, has not been so lucky. Since most Jews can’t remember what Hanukah is about and most non-Jews never learned, popular Hanukah songs don’t get more specific than a vague allusion to “days long ago.” Three examples, all of roughly equal religious merit: “O, Hanukah,” “The Dreydel Song,” and Adam Sandler’s “Hanukah Song.”

I once believed that anyone who records Christmas songs is an incorrigible sellout, but I abandoned that theory because the list was so overwhelming: Springsteen, the Beach Boys, Sinatra, B.B. King, U2, The Supremes, The Beatles – heck, most of the great artists in the history of popular music have at sometimes turned to Christmas music. To me, these recordings represent the low points in the otherwise stellar careers of highly talented performers. Sure, there are those who claim that the intrinsic joy of holiday season forgives its trite soundtrack. Bah, I say. Humbug

P.S. My apologies for the lapse in blog posts. Entries will now resume with normal frequency.

Ten years later, the month after I turned fourteen, I began to see a psychiatrist. I was diagnosed with a social anxiety disorder called Selective Mutism, as well as Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder and severe depression. I was immediately put on Prozac and Abilify (both anti-psychotics/depressants). After a year or two of raising the medication slowly, I peaked at 180 mg of Prozac per day.

“She fooled all of her friends into thinking she’s so strong
But she still sleeps with the light on
And she acts like it’s all right on, as she smiles again
And her mother lies there sick with cancer
And her friends don’t understand her
She’s a question without answers
Who feels like falling apart.
She knows, she’s so much more than worthless
She needs to find a purpose,
She wonders what she did to deserve this…”

Even with the medication, people still didn’t believe there was anything wrong with me. Slowly I began to talk to my friends and relatives again, but some still seemed to have a grudge. Of course, nothing in the lyrics above really related to me. My mother didn’t start developing colon cancer until later, and even then she got it promptly removed and it hasn’t shown up again. Even though that is only in one line of the mentioned verse, it kind of implies that that is the reason this girl is “a question without answers” and she “feels like falling apart.” So, what was MY problem? I had a great family, a great faith, I was always smart, and was very skinny. What made me so down?

“And he tells everyone a story,
Cause he thinks his life is boring
And he fights so ou won’t ignore him,
Cause that’s his biggest fear
And he cries, but you’ll rarely see him do it
And he loves but he’s scared to use it
So he hides behind the music
Cause he likes it that way
And he knows, he’s so much more than worthless
He needs to find the surface
Cause he’s starting to get nervous”

Even though my mother understands now, almost everyone I know, including my own brothers and sisters, think I’m just being a baby. In this verse, nothing is implied to be the source of the boy’s pain, yet he seems so hopeless. This is exactly how I felt. There was nothing so horrible about my life, aside from the normal teenage angst. Slowly over the years of taking Prozac I found out about hormones and Seratonin and such. There are glands in the brain that tell you how to feel. Most people have a certain sized gland in their brain for sadness. Mine, however, was much bigger. Of course, certain amounts of vitamins could average things out. The point is, even though a lot of depressed kids have a lot to be depressed about, that doesn’t mean that anyone who’s depressed and has a decent life isjust being a “baby.” People still call me “emo” sometimes, because I still cut myself. Everyone thinks there’s nothing underneath that makes me upset. Do you ever get upset when someone says “You have nothing to complain about”? Do you ever just want to tell them that they can’t know anything that you feel? I almost always feel that way. And though the Prozac has made radical changes in my life, I still get majorly depressed sometimes. I still have to say that honestly, nothing too dramatic has happened in my life. I really have nothing that should make me want to die. But sometimes I do want to die. Sometimes I want to die so desperately, but I can’t do anything about it, so I just sit and cry.

Depression is not a feeling. It’s mental disorder. It is just as serious as Down Syndrome or Dyslexia. If you’re the person that makes fun of “emo” kids, then think about this next time you think you know everything going on in others’ lives. If you’re the one getting put down because you’re depressed for reasons you have no control over, I post this song for you.

I’m calling out to you
This is a call, this is a call out
Cause everytime I fall down, I reach out to you
And I’m losing all control now
And my hazard signs are all out
I’m asking you to show me what this life is all about
Have you ever felt this way before
Cause I don’t wanna hide here anymore
Take me to a place where nothing’s wrong
And thanks for coming, shut the door
And they say some one out there sees us,
Well if you’re real, then save me Jesus
Cause I’ve been this way for far too long
I wasn’t meant to feel alone

In 1983, Ahmet Ertegun was determined to settle the score. The Atlantic Records founder set out to establish a Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, paying tribute to rock’s greatest performers and other important figures in the genre’s still-young history. By 1986, Ertegun and a committee of so-called rock experts were ready to honor the first class of inductees, ushering in an era of official recognition for achievement in rock and roll.

Recently, I was greeted with the chance to make a rock pilgrimage of sorts to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, Ohio. Being a self-professed popular music snob, I naturally approached this commercialized institution with some degree of suspicion. After all, could a panel of critics and label execs really be trusted to spell out the history of rock and roll in fair and accurate terms? Despite my cynical apprehensions, I found myself standing at the museum’s door fully ten minutes before opening time, making me the first over-excited idiot of the day to show up.

Inside, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is a veritable paradise for rock musicologists. With multimedia and artifacts representing every era of rock history, the museum offers a nerdy thrill a minute. Rare footage and objects from popular music legends abounds, as does written material that puts rock lore admirably in perspective. Even when interest in historical minutia begins to wane, it’s difficult to deny the entertainment value of the psychedelic paint job on Janis Joplin’s Porsche or David Bowie’s outrageous stage garb.

Although the museum pays tribute to current inductees and non-inductees alike, those who have been officially honored are enshrined in a video presentation that keeps the focus appropriately on their music. And though it certainly doesn’t hurt to be a multi-platinum megastar, it would be unfair to say that only the most commercially successful artists are candidates for induction. Rather, the primary criterion seems to be far-reaching influence; alternative rock pioneers such as the Velvet Underground and the Ramones have been admitted despite being relative commercial flops in their respective heydays.

In a musical culture so often defined by rebellion against capitalist institution, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame seems to have a sobering effect on its inductees. This, of course, is endlessly ironic because the Hall is as capitalistic and institutionalized as it gets. Yet, even performers with a history of public squabbles with the record industry, like Tom Petty and John Fogerty, have become gracious and enthusiastic acceptors of the honor. Indeed, the Hall of Fame has cultivated an air of legitimacy powerful enough to make many counterculture icons willingly accept a pat on the back from the man.

Not every honoree, however, has responded with such gratitude. When the Sex Pistols received word that they had been chosen as inductees for the Class of 2006, the legendary punks posted a hastily scrawled note on their website, declining to attend the induction ceremony and casting the Hall of Fame as a profiteering “piss stain.” That’s the spirit, lads.

The Sex Pistols’ attitude toward the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame has often been echoed by discriminating rock listeners who are offended by the notion of an “official” registry for artistic greatness. The idea of a “hall of fame,” these critics argue, should be reserved for fields such as professional sports, in which individuals can be ranked according to scores and statistics. Popular musicians, whose achievements are subjective and defy quantification, do not fit this mold. Therefore, opponents of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame say, there cannot and should not be any “final word” on who the true geniuses of rock are.

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame has also come under fire for its loose definition of “rock and roll,” which permits artists from non-rock genres such as jazz and hip hop to be inducted. This year’s induction of Madonna, alongside more traditional “rock” icons including John Mellencamp and the Ventures, drew harsh criticism from strict constructionists of rock. Previous controversial inductees have included hip hop pioneers Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five and jazz trumpet master Miles Davis. For many, it seems as though the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is degenerating into a disjointed who’s-who of music-biz celebrities.

In a sense, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame was doomed from the start to be controversial. Whether or not it intends to do so, the institution seems to uphold its inductees as infallible deities. And in the community of self-proclaimed rock critics, nothing is sacred. Rock fans thrive on the thrill of a good argument, challenging prevailing views about greatness and influence and offering up their own takes.

Try asking some popular music nerds who started punk rock. Some will say the Ramones. Others will cite the MC5 or the Stooges. I say the Kinks and the Who had plenty to do with it. The beauty of an argument like this is that it has no definitive answer. The goal of having the discussion is less to prove a point than to probe the knowledge of fellow scholars and share some nuggets of rock lore. These arguments may uncover more common ground than new quarrels, but music nerds maintain just enough discrepancies to pick up the conversation right where it left off.

But what happens when you give a nerd the power to announce the names of rock’s geniuses to the world? My guess is that besides having millions of dollars and a museum at their disposal, the geeks who choose the inductees for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame are no different from the geeks found lingering in record stores around the world. They have their version of rock history, and I have mine.

Walking through the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame was like picking the brain of a fellow rock enthusiast. I soaked up every song and story, whether or not I already knew it by heart. I nodded my approval when an exhibit struck just the right chord. I grimaced when things seemed to fall out of tune with my way of thinking. In those cases, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and I would have to agree to disagree. And by that measure, it was one of the best arguments I’ve ever had.

verse 1
i think i’m drowning, asphyxiated.
i wanna break this spell
that you created.
your something beautiful,
a contrediction.
i wanna play the game,
i want the friction.
you
will
be
the death
of me.
yeah,
you
will
be
the death
of me.
chores
bury it.
i wont let you bury it.
i wont let you smother it.
i wont let you murder it.
are time is running out.
are time is running out.
you cant push it underground,
you cant stop it screaming out.
verse 2
i wanted freedom,
bound and restricted.
i tried to give you up,
but i’m addicted.
now that you know i’m traped,
sence of elation.
you’ev never dreamed of
breaking this fixation.
you
will
sqeeze
the
life
out of me.
chores

verse 3
how did it come to this?
( ooooh ye eyea ye) yeah!
you
will
suck
the life
out of me.
chores
verse 4
how did it come to this?
(ooooh ye eyea ye)

It’s no coincidence that when political banter veers toward more light-hearted fare, music tends to dominate the conversation. In a country of wide economic gaps and deep cultural subdivisions, an affinity for music is one common thread between all factions of American society. Even with the record industry in decline, Americans still consume music at a prodigious rate, and chattering about favorite musicians remains a national pastime. Any presidential hopeful who does not outwardly care about music risks appearing out of touch, even un-American. But in the heat of the electoral race, even a topic as innocent as music could turn controversial if the candidates fail to watch what they say.

Where musical leanings are concerned, Senator Obama has been the more forthcoming of the two major candidates. In a June interview for Rolling Stone, Obama said that his tastes are eclectic, ranging from jazz to folk to hip-hop. The senator lavished praise on a few of his musical heroes, but he avoided the appearance of having a single “favorite” genre. Whether or not Obama’s statements are genuine, they represent a politically savvy effort on his part to make himself more likeable to Americans of all musical creeds.

In the case of hip-hop, Obama seems acutely aware that his attitude toward the music could have a real impact on his public image. Given that most rap listeners are young and the most popular MCs are generally African American, an Obama endorsement of the genre would help play down concerns that he is not “cool enough” or “black enough.” However, he also runs the risk of alienating older voters, many of whom regard hip-hop as crass and offensive. In his Rolling Stone interview, Obama walked the line cautiously, citing Jay-Z as a favorite artist but also expressing concerns about inflammatory lyrics in hip-hop. “I am troubled sometimes by the misogyny and materialism of a lot of rap lyrics,” he lamented.

Senator Obama also tempered his enthusiasm for music with hints that while he may be a fan, he is hardly a fanatic. Talking about his affinity for Bob Dylan, Obama mentioned that he has “probably 30″ Dylan songs on his iPod. (This reporter has 234, counting live and alternate versions.) He also indicated that his iPod contains only one Dylan album, Blood On The Tracks, in its entirety. Music nerds may recoil at this news, but Obama seems more than happy to distance himself from those “elitist” snobs.

If Obama has been self-conscious and calculating in his statements on music, he is only willing to carry this tack so far. On his Facebook page, Obama lists Dylan, John Coltrane, Miles Davis, Stevie Wonder, Johann Sebastian Bach, and The Fugees as his favorite artists. This list may exude fine taste, but from a political standpoint it leaves much to be desired. Neglecting country music means a missed opportunity to appeal to southern voters, and Dylan’s peacenik image will only reinforce the fears of those who see Obama as “too liberal.”

One comment from Obama’s Rolling Stone interview was far more risky. Asked to name a favorite Dylan song, the senator picked “Maggie’s Farm,” a classic that marked the beginning of Dylan’s controversial switch from acoustic folk to electric rock. “It speaks to me as I listen to some of the political rhetoric,” Obama said of the song. To be sure, “Maggie’s Farm” is overtly political, and its lyrics are often interpreted as a rebuke to the capitalist institution. If Obama wants to improve his rapport with moderate voters, he would do well to clarify that he doesn’t take “Maggie’s Farm” as a call for socialism.

Senator McCain, while not as outspoken about music as his rival, did issue one bold proclamation: the dude bops to ABBA. True to his maverick persona, McCain has stood by the Swedish pop group since October 2007, when he told reporters in South Carolina that he does not subscribe to the “rank hypocrisy” of ABBA-bashers. “Nobody likes them, but they’ve sold more records than anybody in the history of the world, including The Beatles,” he said. The factuality of this statement is questionable at best, but Washington rhetoric is seldom immune to hyperbole.

If ABBA is not the best-selling of all music groups, it might be the most polarizing. While music snobs deplore the band as an embodiment of the 70s in all their glossy excess, droves of fans still revel in the effortlessly catchy songs. Many ABBA enthusiasts may prefer to lurk in the shadows, but someone must be buying up all those tickets for Mamma Mia!, the ABBA-themed hit musical that made the jump this year from Broadway stage to silver screen. McCain is taking a chance on ABBA Nation, hoping that his love of the group will please more voters than it offends.

McCain’s courageous declaration about his favorite group represents a departure from his fellow Republican, current President George W. Bush. Bush has usually played it safe when speaking about his favorite songs, picking simple classic rock hits like John Fogerty’s “Centerfield” and Van Morrison’s “Brown Eyed Girl.” Choices like these fit neatly into Bush’s self-styled image: down-to-earth, none-too-cerebral, All-American.

Meghan McCain, daughter of the Republican presidential nominee, appears to be looking out for dad’s best interests when it comes to publicizing his musical tastes. In January, she told MTV that her father does not listen only to “really old music,” but also enjoys younger artists such as Lauryn Hill. Ms. McCain issued this comment as part of a claim that her father, despite his age (72), is in touch with the American youth.

Although Senator McCain and Senator Obama seem to take pleasure in music, both men appear to lack any musical ability of their own. Several previous presidential candidates have been eager to show off their chops on an instrument, and have done so to mixed results. Former president Bill Clinton, for instance, scored points for likeability by playing the saxophone on national television during his 1992 campaign. Senator John Kerry tried to emulate the strategy in 2003, when he took up an electric guitar and joined a local Boston band onstage for a Bruce Springsteen cover. Unfortunately for the Kerry campaign, this move did little to negate the senator’s image as stuffy and pretentious.

Ultimately, the fact that neither McCain nor Obama openly plays an instrument may prove immaterial. The American electorate, by and large, is above the need for a rock star president. But the people do yearn for a president to whom they can relate, and, above all, whom they can trust. Whether or not they realize it, plenty of voters are more likely to have faith in a candidate whose musical tastes they can respect. If a record collection really is a window to the soul, the glimpses Senator McCain and Senator Obama give us could have real implications for how we see them as potential leaders.

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