Specificity

The commodification of music is now entirely fait-accompli. I know this because of what transpires when I’m asked if I like pop music.
Instantly, I stumble at the question; somewhere in my brain, there is a part of me that knows the socially acceptable answer is to answer in the affirmative. To do so is to confirm kinship and belonging.
Instead, I fall at the initial linguistic hurdle. What is meant by ‘pop music’?
As a genre name, it is redundant. It makes no attempt to describe style, merely the intended commercial outcome of its creation. A pop hit that wasn’t a hit first time around is still (and always was) pop when it somehow achieves mainstream success years later, it was ever intended for shifting big units.
Other musical genre names can be descriptive of the sonic experience (‘noisecore’), of process (‘jazz’) or even refer to musics made at a specific time and place (‘classical’) but pop has exclusive dominion over capital.
So, there I am contorting my face, trying to answer the question truthfully, my attempts to avoid disingenuity looking more like intestinal obstruction and my interlocutor squirming at the scene playing out before them.
To buy myself some time, I’ll ask for more specificity – are they referring to the Andrews Sisters or Jessie J?
Now I’ve done it.
Any pity hitherto felt on behalf of my apparent awkwardness at this most-innocuous of interactions instantly evaporates – he’s a difficult sod, why didn’t he just say no?
Now I’m on the backfoot, desperately explaining that there’s plenty of pop I like. My previous unwillingness to proclaim myself a true believer without caveat mean that my claims to pop-cred are met with stern incredulity.
I’ve been had, done up like a kipper.
Still, at least it’s not a conversation I’ll have to repeat.
Note to self: just say yes in future. If only I could.