Lost in translation.

A couple of weeks ago, I was in town with a friend; and, as he went into a local bookshop to buy a book on bi-polar disease, I waited outside, leaning back against a low post, patiently minding my own business. Before I knew what was happening, I found myself accosted by a group of Japanese tourists, each armed with a clipboard and a few sheets of paper. Oh no, I thought to myself. They're going to ask me boring and inane questions. Funnily enough, I was right.

"What's your favourite kind of music?" one of them asked me.

I hesitated. My mind had gone blank. The question had thrown me, for some reason: it had figuratively forced all genres and categories of music, not to mention specific artists and bands, straight out of my head. As I say, this happened a few weeks ago - and, since then, I've had plenty of time to come to understand why I found it so hard to answer the boys. My reasoning is this: I couldn't come up with an answer on the spot because I like too many genres of music. It wasn't as though I could very well ask the poor tourists to stand there as I reeled off every kind of music in which I like to indulge: from the occasional mainstream chart-topper, through embarrassingly clichéd emo-punk, past classical scores, to the ever-played indie/alternative. For one thing, it would have taken both time (which, admittedly, I had to spare) and effort (which I didn't); but it would also have been awkward, and I'd have felt like a right dork, listing in my most pretentious "music-journalist-hopeful" accent, all of the types of music I like. Look at me, I would have been saying. I'm clever because I know lots of different genres and lots of different artists.

"Um," I said, instead. "I like ... indie?"

"Oh, yes!" they said. They were very enthusiastic. "And who is your favourite singer or band?"

Oh God, I thought. I'd been under the impression that the first question had been hard to answer - but now, as I stood there in front of the tourists, desperately wishing my friend would hurry up and help me out of this situation, I was forced to delve through the many categories of music I had just brought to the front of my mind and select a relevant artist. Many flashed through my head. Kate Bush? No - too weird. Alberta Cross? No - too specific. The Beatles? No - too generic. Come on, think - you like more than three bands, surely. Feeling like a disgrace to the name of music-journalism, I named the next appropriate band that materialised in my mind.

"Radiohead. I like Radiohead."

Again, they were enthusiastic: they had heard of Radiohead - they even liked Radiohead. After asking only a few further questions, they left me in peace to mull over my unsatisfactory answers. It's not that I dislike Radiohead - in fact, they are one of my favourite bands - but I couldn't help feeling as though I'd missed out on an opportunity. Five minutes earlier I had had the chance to wow some Japanese tourists with my far-reaching knowledge of music and its history: and yet, in my answers, I had chosen a generic genre and a well-known band. Why hadn't I felt comfortable in describing my many favourite genres of music? Why hadn't I chosen a lesser-known band to describe as my favourite, and perhaps encouraged them to give them a listen?

The truth is, I suppose, there is just too much music out there. I couldn't choose a favourite genre because I like too many; and, for much the same reason (but to a greater extent) I couldn't choose a favourite artist. Part of me wonders if I'll ever be able to answer those questions readily.

But, in the end, I try not to beat myself up about it. They were fairly stupid questions, after all.