Forgive this incredibly general and sad statement, but the time for honesty has come — I… Forgive this incredibly general and sad statement, but the time for honesty has come — I don’t know very much about music.

Yes, I’m refering to every hipster’s worst nightmare.

This isn’t a confession of not knowing how to read or play music — although those statements would unfortunately also be true. I mean that I have a bunch of songs on my iPod, and yet, I’m often unfamiliar with artists who sound remarkably — and appreciably — similar to some of my favorites.

There’s zero rhyme and reason to the music I have and that I do not. My selection is comically, embarrassingly random. For instance, I listened to Ben Harper for a long time before I stumbled across Damien Rice.

And on top of that problem — here’s where the hipsters will really cringe — I have extremely limited exposure to songs the average college student has never before heard.

If we agree that there are different levels of obscurity in the music world, ranging from the bands in which our friends and classmates play to, say, Kanye, then my own level of familiarity fades around Ingrid Michaelson. You’re cringing, I know.

If asked to explain my musical tastes to a stranger, I can only offer statements as broad as, “I like music that is calm,” or really mundane comments like, “I like acoustic guitar.”

My, that’s fascinating.

So, what’s a girl to do to expand her horizons? Enter the motion picture soundtrack. It’s a realm I’ve only recently discovered. Another confession? I think I’m in love.

True, soundtracks have been around for ages and ages, and it’s not as if I’d never heard of them until today. But only now, as a college student downright humiliated by a lack of musical taste, do I truly appreciate the soundtrack for the educational tool that it is.

Take the breakout indie hit “500 Days of Summer.” Its soundtrack features classics like Hall and Oates, Simon and Garfunkel and The Smiths.

But like most indie soundtracks, it also features artists from several levels of that obscure artist pyramid. From not-unknown Feist to the very new, cuter-than-a-button Zooey Deschanel, there’s a lovely variety of celebrity.

It’s more than I can say for many of the mixes my friends make, where the goal is apparently to impress me with the sheer anonymity of every artist included. And it’s way, way more than I can say for the radio. No explanation necessary.

Here’s the thing: I want to know more about music. That isn’t the same as, “I want to become expertly versed in songs only I have heard.” Obscurity is not a litmus test for good music. Sorry, Spin magazine. But I am adamantly opposed to the idea of turning my ears only toward the Billboard Top 100 to fill my iTunes collection. Whatever “Party in the U.S.A.” Miley’s yelling about, I am not attending.

These conditions have led me to snatch up movie soundtracks practically by the handful, like salty, yellow movie theater popcorn.

I absolutely refuse to be embarrassed for relying on this genre to expand my musical horizons. I know I’m not the only one. Celine Dion was a Canadian nobody before “Titanic.” And every smartass in America fell in love with Kimya Dawson after the release of “Juno”.

The movie soundtrack also brings us treasures in the form of the satisfying original score. Jai Ho, anyone? I can’t help but do a little L-shaped move with my arm every time that song plays. And what about the opening to “Forrest Gump,” the music that plays while the feather floats down and down to the bus stop? To hear it on the soundtrack is heartwarming to me.

For those of us who aren’t constantly flipping through Spin magazine or scouring Pittsburgh’s nightclubs for something new, the soundtrack itself is a didactic instrument.

One day, I’ll answer the question “What kind of music do you like?” with a statement more refined than “Uh, I don’t know, stuff that sounds nice.” For better or worse, I’ll have soundtracks to thank for that.

To the indie soundtrack, the more mainstream and the heart-palpitating theme to Braveheart I put on my headphones, and bow down.

Let us play.

E-mail Carolyn at [email protected].