Hello, music-minded Pittsburghers, and welcome to my very first column. Here I will attempt… Hello, music-minded Pittsburghers, and welcome to my very first column. Here I will attempt to entertain, excite and maybe even educate you about the thing that ties my mind up in knots at least once every minute, every waking hour of my every day: Rock ‘n’ Roll.

Before I get too far, I think it would be fitting to briefly introduce myself. My musical history can basically be broken down into the following two phases. Stage the first: In an after-school program in second grade, I drew a nearly life-size picture of all five members of Boys II Men and sent it to their fan club. Stage the second: On the playground later that afternoon, a fourth grade boy made fun of my “I’ll Make Love to You” obsession, (truthfully) telling me I didn’t even know what that meant, and introduced me to Green Day’s Dookie album.

I immediately thought rock ‘n’ roll was the coolest thing in the world, with the possible exception of that fourth grader. I soon began to transfer all my dad’s vinyls to cassettes so I could listen to them on my Walkman on the ride to school, so as to avoid my mother’s affection for Dan Fogelberg, a 1960s folkie less exciting than waiting for your hair to grow.

But don’t worry, ye Philly faithful, I will always love Boys II Men.

I believe that gets us up to speed on introductions; now let’s talk rock.

Until recently, one rock-related question had plagued my mind more than any other, including even “What does Britney see in Kevin?” and “Why ever would Jessica leave Nick?” This question is simple to ask, but hard to explain: Why do we like the music we like, and why do we hate what we hate?

There has to be some reason, some formula, as to why some music sparks our interest and some makes us cringe. Too often – and we all do this – a musical question about preference will be answered with “Because it sucks,” or “Because it’s awesome.” You owe it to yourself to figure out why you, like, totally love the first five Dave Matthews albums, but not the sixth one, bro.

Now, I’m not going to attempt to answer this for all of you – it’s a personal issue that you alone can figure out, and I challenge you to do so. For me, the thought process was long, arduous and ended with the Black Crowes.

I couldn’t separate good from bad by genre, since I can always find some exceptions to genres that I don’t profess to overwhelmingly enjoy (such as country or anything on commercial radio). I couldn’t break it down by volume or intensity – I can get into both death metal and Jack Johnson. Nor can I judge based on good lyrics vs. good tunes. Oh, what to do?

But upon listening to some tracks by the Black Crowes, a wild, bluesy band that broke into the mainstream with raucous, whiskey-induced rockers like “Hard to Handle” almost 15 years ago, it hit me harder than actual whiskey: I don’t like music that has been chopped up and spit out in the studio. I love music that sounds live, raw and uncut – music that’s not perfect and shows that it’s played by real people. I want my rock still bleeding.

Suddenly it all made sense. When a bro asks me why I hate Nickelback, or Three Doors Down, Linkin Park, Fuel or Creed, no longer will I pretentiously smirk and make a comment about how Scott Stapp wore leather pants in the “Higher” video. These bands play to perfection, with every note in a set order and every song tightly structured. There is no adventure here, there’s no mystery. They are