Bob Dylan doesn’t suck
Bob Dylan ain’t my thing. I don’t enjoy the music or the lyrics, his unique vocal style is difficult for me to listen to, and the haggard-artist look—on anyone—always struck me as contrived.
When he’s lauded by many as one of America’s greatest poets, performers, and visionaries, I shrug. To put it simply, I don’t get the adulation.
Notice I didn’t say, “Bob Dylan sucks.”
In life, there are things we all agree should be labeled as sucky. Cancer sucks. Deadly hurricanes and tornadoes suck. Assholes who create and propagate computer viruses suck.
But lumping your personal taste, especially anything in the arts, into the realm of suckiness is just arrogance. Loudly proclaiming “Mashed potatoes suck!” is not only crazy talk—for mashed potatoes are like manna from heaven—but it arrogantly elevates your opinion over that of anyone or everyone else.
Here’s the thing: I used to be that guy.
Back in the day, if asked, I would tell people, “Bob Dylan sucks.” I’d proclaim the shittiness of The Beach Boys and Brussels sprouts, too.
Until the day I finally grew up and realized the difference between “The Goonies sucked” and “That movie’s not for me.”
And, surprisingly, it became freeing. It took me a while to figure out why, but here’s the best way I can explain it.
When you tell a worshipful fan of Will Ferrell that his movies suck, it practically invites argument and/or outrage. Or a punch in the face.
Why? Because you didn’t insult Will Ferrel; you insulted them. You may as well have said, “Your taste is for shit. What’s wrong with you? God, you’re stupid.”
When you tell that same fan, “Yeah, it’s just not my thing,” then you’re practically inviting sympathy rather than anger. Now it’s not that they’re stupid, but that you’re evidently not wired properly. There’s something wrong with you, rather than with them.
And people are okay with that. Believe me, they’re totally okay with that.
The beauty is that both examples say exactly the same thing: You like this, and I don’t. One way makes the other person seem to be a faulty human, while the latter makes you the defective part.
Saves a lot of time and saves a lot of senseless arguing—because you’ll never, ever convince me that Brussels sprouts should even exist on this planet.
Nobody gets mad, we all get on with our lives, and Bob Dylan gets on with his mumbling.
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If this post—in your opinion—didn’t suck, maybe you’d be interested in buying Dom a tea or a beer, right here. That would not suck at all.
