Krista Tschetter

Luke likes soft rock, acoustic stuff. John Mayer. Matchbox 20. Anything you could make sweet love to in a dorm room. And lots and lots of Toad the Wet Sprocket.

Mike likes Social Distortion. He likes Avail. He likes anything bass-laden and whiskey-soaked. Especially if the lead singer sounds like he’s coughing up blood. But he’s got a few decent blues discs (R.L. Burnside, Kenny Wayne Shepard).

Then there’s me, Krista. I like chick rock like Ani DiFranco and Marry Me Jane.

I have a sickening fascination with alt-country, namely Ryan Adams. I also have N’Sync’s “Bye Bye Bye.” Which I know all the words to.

We each think most of what the other two likes is horrid, and we’re all inflexible to a fault.

When I thought of the three of us spending 20 hours in my mom’s mini-van on a spring break road trip from Spearfish to Missoula, Mont., I was sure the fur would fly.

What I found out was, that even with such vast differences in taste as the three of us have, there are a few artists that are so timeless (and so freakin’ good), that they kept the peace in that Ford Aerostar.

And I would like to extend my thanks to the following:

Bob Dylan: Actually our favorite was Duluth Does Dylan. It’s a compilation disc of Dylan covers, and the styles were so varied that it was easy to find a favorite. Mike dug the fast-paced “Tombstone Blues” by The Black Eyed Snakes.

I thought “One Too Many Mornings” by Jamie Ness was gorgeous, and perfect for snaking through mountains.

Luke was engrossed in my Jane magazine the whole time–guys like beauty tips, too–so I don’t think he was listening.

We also played a couple random tracks (“Desolation Row,” “Ballad of the Thin Man”) off Dylan’s own discs, namely because we were excited to show each other certain lyrics.

It was very harmonious.

The Clash: We must have listened to London Calling at least three times. There’s not a lot I can say about The Clash that hasn’t already been said.

It makes for some great car-dancing, and we watched a buffalo poop to “Rudy Can’t Fail.” I’d like to think that buffalo’s real name was Rudy.

The Violent Femmes: I’d like to nominate “Blister in the Sun” for best road trip song ever.

“Add it Up” is fun too. And you only have to hear the songs once to learn most of the words.

Tenacious D: These guys are seriously unhinged. But if you’re a sucker for the profane (and total tongue-in-cheek butt rock) you’ll laugh your proverbial ass off.

What I’m really trying to get across is that music truly is the great communicator.

What happened in that van was a microchosm of a much larger phenomenon.

It might sound a whole lot hippie, but, hey, there’s not a lot of harmony in the world right now. And on this small level, we can all control something.

Reach Krista Tschetter at [email protected]