Every week I listen to the playlist of songs Spotify recommends for me. It’s pretty hit or miss but this summer it led me to one song in particular that I listened to quite a bit. But just this week, while in a deep YouTube rabbit hole, I learned it’s actually a cover of a Joni Mitchell song. That didn’t make me like the song any less, but knowing it’s not an original felt like important information to know. It’s a recipe for some major cocktail party embarrassment:

“Say, I came across this great new tune the other day!”

The circle of women in black turtlenecks gasp, intrigued.

“Oh? Do tell,” says the most chic of the bunch, likely their leader.

“It’s called ‘A Case of You’ by Tristen. Positively delightful!” I beam, anticipating their praises. Instead, the turtlenecks all raise an eyebrow, glance at each other, and then start to laugh.

“That’s a Joni Mitchell song, you rube!”

I am frozen, exposed like Adam and Eve, with blinding awareness of my ignorance. I stare down at my small plate of finger food, unable to eat because of the glass I hold in my other hand.

How was I supposed to know that the song Spotify handed me in all their algorithmic wisdom was a cover? Should track titles include the parenthetical “a cover” like books in airport newsstands tell you it’s “a novel”?

I still remember an exchange with a teacher in high school when I proudly quoted another teacher as coining the phrase “power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely.” They laughed and informed me that it was definitely not original to them. I was embarrassed (and frustrated with the first teacher—let’s cite our sources, shall we?).

But I’ve been on both sides of the “wait, how could you not know that?” exchange. I am absolutely the kind of person to take way too much pride in knowing about originals and fun facts and which president said that one quote. I’ve been the person to gleefully correct (“inform”) someone else of their ignorance. I remember lots of giggling in study hall at the expense of a friend who had a lyric of “The Star-Spangled Banner” wrong (if you know who you are I do apologize for making a massive deal of that).

I suppose there’s a spectrum of things that are reasonable to expect people to know: on one end, things no one knows nor needs to (i.e. the origins of some phrases—who’s Pete and why are we do things for his sake?) and on the other, things it’s really important and reasonable to know (i.e. how to tell if that chicken is still raw). Some things are more vital to know than others.

I get such a rush when I know what movie that quote is from or what that word means. But when is informing people of that helpful and interesting, and when is that a jerk move? It probably depends a lot on the delivery of the information and the volume of my laughter.

I’ve tried to brand any of my know-it-all tendencies as “just really loving fun facts,” which is true—I do love fun facts and I don’t pretend to know it all. I like knowing the sorts of things they write crossword puzzle clues about; it’s one of the ways I feel like I understand the world I live in. But what’s not so nice is when I especially get joy from knowing things that others in the room don’t.

I suppose it’s an attempt to feel special and worth having around. Maybe it’s a youngest sibling thing, a reaction to the times when I didn’t understand what we were talking about at dinner. I remember that quote correction in high school so clearly because I really wanted my teachers to think that I knew about the world.

There are always going to be things we don’t know and songs that we don’t know are covers. Each generation, each family, each person gets to decide that some things are necessary knowledge and some things aren’t. 

But just in case it comes up, I’m going to go listen to more Joni Mitchell.

Christina Ribbens

Christina Ribbens (’19) studied history, studio art, and data science at Calvin and public humanities at Georgetown. She now lives in the part of Virginia that’s almost Washington, DC where she helps award grants to arts nonprofits. She takes a lot of walks to admire the landscaping in peoples’ front yards, mostly listens to British comedians’ podcasts, and likes to make friends via sports.