How do I know that I'm a music lover?

Forget the obsessive self-taught musicianship, the fetish for vinyl discs, the love of recording, and my unhealthy predilection to be a walking Trivial Pursuit: UnPop Music Edition.

No. What really does it is the fact that music makes me choke up with tears. And unlikely bits of music, too. Usually old ones. Right now, I'm listening to Curtis Mayfield's classic, "Move On Up." Incredibly uplifting and inspiring stuff, especially considering its historical context (ie coming two years after Dr. King's assassination, at the beginning of the decade-long hangover of the '70s). I shed a tear also to wonder where our generation's Curtis Mayfields are now that the original is passed on as well. Our idea of politically and socially aware music is shaggy-haired, skinny white boys whining about being bored in suburbia, or your choice of a kazillion Alanis/Fiona/Tori/Ani clones commingling bad breakups with the White Male Power Structure in bad coffee-house poetry. On the other hand, you've always got Toby Keith talking about kickin' some Ay-rab ass.

Since I'm not at all familiar with the whole fascinating world of hip hop and R&B, where you might assume a modern day Mayfield to be most likely working, I'll leave that discussion to others smarter than I.