Ethnomusicologists, aspiring to some pseudo-scientific objectivity, tend to put their tastes on hold—for like John Cleese in the cheeseshop sketch, we “delight in all manifestations of the Terpsichorean muse”.
Football songs, Bulgarian wedding laments, ice-cream-van jingles, Demis Roussos, world accordion conventions, even Beethoven, all are grist to our mill.
My esteemed colleague Helen Rees, in a fine outline of the Chinese soundscape, wrote:
Doorbells play Muzak when pressed.
I like that—I play Muzak when pressed too.