My brother, Jon, and I have a recurring argument with our lovely wives, Amanda and Andrea, respectively. They believe that good music is in the ear (as it were) of the beholder. Jon and I cringe, like Will Smith and his poor children, subject to the needless visual supplements required to make the music of Miley Cyrus and Lady Gaga interesting enough to consume. Seemingly incapable of withholding the raft of musical elitism that will surely land us in the bad graces of our beloved, we’re drawn to the life-zapping light like flying insects.