Reading Rachel Donadio's essay in Sunday's New York Times Book Review, "It's Not You, It's Your Books," was good for a laugh. (She followed it up with a post at Paper Cuts, if you'd like to get interactive.) The article is about "literary dealbreakers"—that moment when someone's taste in books makes it apparent that a relationship will not be possible.
This called to mind an experience of mine, only with music. Back when I was in college I was infatuated with someone, despite her loving the Dave Matthews Band. I mean, that alone is a red flag; but it wasn't until we were at a bar one night and she a) put Stevie Ray Motherfucking Vaughn on the jukebox, and b) started air-guitaring for the duration of the seven-minute jam, that I figured out I was a fucking bonehead and needed to start looking elsewhere. It's not just the taste in music—there's just something fundamentally wrong happening there.
And with that I turn it to you: did you ever date (or merely have a crush on) someone, only to have the whole thing ruined when you realized their taste in music was hopeless?
Since I'm sure you're all a bunch of open-minded goodie goodies who would never deign to judge something so insignificant as taste as an indicator of character, I'll ask you the reverse as well: have you ever developed a crush based on someone's musical taste?
Points awarded if either answer centers on a specific album or song.