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Taylor Swift, 1989 (2014)

No, I'm not going to write about Taylor Swift's 1989.  Because a 50-something suburban dad talking about Taylor Swift is... kinda icky, right?

No, I wanted to talk about guilty pleasures

I think there's a general consensus that a "guilty pleasure" is something that, at least from a critical standpoint, is looked upon with disdain, typically a piece of art that achieves some level of mass success in the face of rejection by esteemed arbiters of taste; and to admit actually enjoying such a thing is to invite ridicule from people whose judgment you generally respect.  So we listen behind closed doors, or alone in the car with the windows shut tight, publicly disavowing such work when called upon to do so.  In the indie rock world, this means proclaiming the genius of Pere Ubu and PIL and Captain Beefheart and Suicide, then slinking out of the room and blasting the Monkees and the Bay City Rollers in the privacy of our own homes.

But at a certain point, do guilty pleasu…

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