Everybody has them. That CD or cassette that you try to hide when company comes over - your guilty pleasure. Music and entertainment that is just for you (and maybe a close friend) and that nobody else would ever think was yours. Southern Rock, John Mayer, A Flock of Seagulls...who likes them? Apparently a lot of people, including some of your favorites from PLAYBACK:stl. Guilty Pleasures is our confessional of the really unhip stuff we like. It can be yours too. Feel free to chime in with a comment or send us your GPs directly to This email address is being protected from spam bots, you need Javascript enabled to view it . Don't be bashful. Ridicule is good for you. 

I know the words to so much classic rock, and I suppose my laidback, rural nature has resulted in an aesthetic preference for Southern instrumentation and voices. I love that dusty twang, those whiskey-soaked leads, the drone of a pedal steel, and the happy cries of a fiddler.

And the way they talk to each other...it is the kind of comedy we want from Posh and Becks but will never get.

I know we all may have some preconceived notions about A Flock of Seagulls, and I wouldn't ever mean to diminish anyone who has used their creative talents to achieve any level of sustainable pop success.

To me, this never gets old. I can just walk around my house singing "And she's buying a stairway to Breeeeetttt." It makes no sense, is a stupid idea, but once you start, I guarantee you won't be able to stop.

When it comes to music, I'm also pretty much obsessed with teenybopper bands. That's how I got my musical start, after all: singing in front of the mirror to the Backstreet Boys...

Through those years, I still had an occasional hankering for some Kevin Cronin and Gary Richrath.

There was a time when I lived in New York and Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber was busy keeping Benadette Peters on the stage.

She had dropped off the radar in the United States but was still charting highly in the musical metropolis that is Belgium.

I, for one, was hooked. Rod, your raspy swoon of a voice won me over and I, for one, do not regret your short jaunt into disco music.

It has even spilled over into my musical endeavors, forming new breeds of guilty pleasure that eat away at another side of my dignity. Below are some music and television choices I cannot be proud of, but can no longer hide from.

But lest you think the Carpenters weren't musically savvy, what other '70s group could cover a weird cult song about UFOs and make it not just a hit, but a more evocative, universal song than the original (the song being, of course, Klaatu's "Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft")?

No matter what side of the night you're seeing the day break, the best way to greet the day is with some Maiden.

Wherever he plies his trade, he brings his demonic vocal cords and a predilection for kings, queens, magic potions, dragons, wolves, golden sceptres and all manner of juvenile spellcasting bullshit.

Not only did my intermittent humming of the chorus lead to several strange looks from my mohawked friends growing up, the "toora loora" part tasted doubly strange in my half-German, half-Austrian Jewish mouth.

Where to begin? Oh my. I suppose after this exercise my credibility as an indie-rock chick will be suitably destroyed. (And yes, that was me you saw belting out "Foolin'" in my car last week.) So we may as well get on with it, shall we?

There is, of course the obvious reason - he is smokin' hot, but besides that, I actually really like his music.