From bang-shang-a-lang to boom-boom-pow, from teenybopper bubblegum to smooth adult contemporary, from club bangers to intimate ballads, we believe there’s no such thing as a guilty pleasure when it comes to pop. We’re shouting out the songs that are rocking our devices today and remembering the songs that made us feed our change into jukeboxes decades ago. It’s all good.
Whether it’s the decadent hair metal of the Sunset Strip or the bearded indie rockers of Portland, the unsigned band playing the local club or the classic rock dinosaurs still selling out stadiums, punk’s three chord assault to prog’s conceptual grandeur, we want to rock. We’re cranking the volume up on the songs that have us rocking out on air guitar and playing the drums on our steering wheels. It’s all good.
We are one nation, all-inclusive, united under sing-along choruses, squealing guitar solos, and great beats that you can dance to. Just as we know no genre bounds, we have a healthy disregard for geographical borders when it comes to our music. We watch the record charts at home and abroad, and highlight the best of what we hear, no matter where in the world it’s playing on the radio. It’s all good.