Stopped at a red light, my roommate started switching the radio station in attempts to find some actual music. If we were lucky enough to escape the talk, we were not so lucky to escape the irritating tones of advertisement jingles. Buy some Budweiser. Get a Ford truck. Visit Illinois. Either the commercials needed to cease or I needed to get out of the car.

So she kept flipping the stations until we heard some guitars, a little bass. That beat made me incredibly grateful. Until I heard the voice. Enduring commercials for Budweiser, Ford, Illinois or anything else would have been better than what defecated in my ears. Glancing out of the corner of my eye, cloaked in a classic expression of dissent, I realized my roommate was not making a move to change the station. Figuring she was going to assume the attentive driver role, I prepared to admit defeat and turn the radio off. Then she spoke.

And just when you think you know someone — a person you choose to share space with, a person you willingly share your mother's cookies with, a person who will buy you Saltines and Jell-o and Gatorade when you need it most — you get a jarring reality check.

"Don't tell anyone, but I like Ryan Cabrera."

I froze. I didn't know what to do. The words practically knocked the wind out of me. I wanted to weep. Ryan Cabrera? Ashlee Simpson's sometimes beau? Was I not sitting next to the fan of Mest and My Chemical Romance and pre-Under the Cork Tree Fall Out Boy? Would I have to sublease my room?

As I consciously regained my breath, gathered comprehension of the situation, I decided I had to respond in kind. I prepared to deliver a blow of my own.

"That's OK. Kelly Clarkson's music is my guilty pleasure."

It is true. Situated between Bright Eyes and Spoon, around the discography of Pearl Jam and volumes from The Roots sits an incognito copy of Breakaway. I applauded on the inside when Clarkson won VMAs for Best Female and Best Pop video for "Since U Been Gone" this past August. Though I never fail to be shocked by knowing the lyrics to a song with "U" in the title, I cannot resist singing along during the chorus.

We all have them, those singers we cringe to admit we enjoy hearing. Those albums we claim our parents cluelessly gave us, or records that accidentally got mixed in from our elder sibling's collection. Those songs too cliché, too passé, too underdeveloped and overproduced to let anyone know is on our frequently played iPod list. Is it a fear of social rejection? Are music preferences tied that closely to peer approval?

I, for one, have long reveled in the reality of having never been cool. There is absolutely no reason it should begin now. So while I am in the confessional mode, I might as well admit my social sin much graver than appreciation of the pop princess Clarkson.

Far too often, ice-breaking discussions regarding favorite artists and genres begin with someone claiming, "I like all kinds of music." Wait a few moments — wait — and the common exception will be made known. "I like all kinds of music … but not country."

Well my confidants, I like country music. Reactions of shock and awe, I know. It had been a submerged taste for quite some time. But one listen of Blake Thomas and the Downtown Brown suddenly revived that guilty pleasure. Maybe it was wind abusing me when I first saw them play at Party in the Park last April that let my guard down. More likely it was that they still amazed the small crowd despite the wind abusing them. Drummer Justin Kunesh managed to keep the beat despite nearly disappearing behind layers for warmth. Frontman Thomas managed to dexterously strum the strings of his guitar despite hands made visibly raw by the cold.

Listening to the infectious alt-country-slanted folk sounds drops you directly in a nostalgic saloon setting. You want a glass of whiskey in hand, spurs on the boots. You want to dance, tilt your 10-gallon hat to new arrivers. You want to watch the door, anticipating a Western cowboy icon will momentarily step through and start some kind of disorder.

All minor dramatizations aside, the Madison-based Downtown Brown could easily make that exclusionary clause obsolete. Each tune is carefully crafted, focusing on the intricacies of intertwining instruments as well as the poetics of the lyrics. What results is a whole that is greater than the sum of the parts, yet a maintenance of the differentiation of those parts.

Perhaps most distinctive of those pieces is the voice of Blake Thomas. Like Robert Plant or Eddie Vedder, Thomas creates a sound I fall victim to every time. It takes only one note to recognize the voice and realize I need to hear more.

And I am not alone in this contention. Local music connoisseurs forming the board for the Madison Area Music Awards donned the distinction of Best Male Vocalist on Thomas this past March.

Undoubtedly, the rest of the Downtown Brown — violinist Shauncey Ali, keyboardist Teddy Pedriana, bassist Jeff Bail and Kunesh — will receive their deserved recognition at the awards show next spring in the wake of their recent album release Real Like Theater.

As Theater has not quite made it to local music store shelves, I have been reduced to snatching two-minute sound bites of the tracks making the album cut. Those are tempting little auditory treats. Ranging from the upbeat opener "Anyone Tonight" to the raucous classic country sounds of "Boston," the intimate melancholy of "Morning" to the expectant "we sit on the porch with a drink in each hand" lyrics of the drawling "Sarah," the anticipation for the final few minutes of each song is weighing. If I can rave about those samples, imagine how shamelessly I will soon praise the songs in their entirety.

Fear not if you still cannot quite bring yourself to come out of the country-loving closet, refuse to admit you have a soft spot for Michael Buble or continue to hide Bow Wow's Wanted in Sigur Ros' Takk case. You are in good company. Ryan Cabrera, Kelly Clarkson. We all have our guilty musical pleasures.

Christine is a senior majoring in English. She clearly cannot keep secrets, so do not confide your shameful musical collection in her. She can be reached for question or comment at [email protected].