There is no cringe-inducing sound in the world greater than the fiercely annoying two-note guitar introduction to Snow Patrol’s ‘Chasing Cars’. In propelling the band from semi-obscure indie-rockers, to stadium-filling international superstars, ‘Chasing Cars’ reached new heights in mind-numbing ubiquity. Snow Patrol, journeymen that they were, had already achieved some measure of success in their native UK. Their fourth album, 2004’s Final Straw reached number one on the back of their lead single, the attractively naff ‘Run’, and had created a charming record, neatly combining Echo and the Bunnymen-inspired orchestral rock with Radiohead-lite electronic glitches. Sure, there were moments of bland derivativeness, but by and large, it made that year’s winter a little warmer.

As such, to be greeted by the prosaic mess that was Eyes Open in 2006 was akin to a betrayal. Gone was the creativity, the sense of unstated fear and dread that pervaded the often sunny music of Final Straw, and in its place a facile blend of stadium-ready rock, tacky colour-by-numbers lyrics, and, of course, clichéd ballads. Which brings us back to ‘Chasing Cars’ and the existential crisis it engenders for music snobs such as myself and, seeing as you find yourself reading this, probably you too.

As already made abundantly clear, the song sends shivers down my spine. But I cannot tell, in my heart of hearts, whether I can’t stand it because it’s a genuinely awful song or if I have decided, be it consciously or not, that with the track on Grey’s Anatomy, on constant rotation on every radio station I hate, and loved by irritating teens everywhere, I am too pigheaded to enjoy it. This is the never-ending quandary faced by the music snob.

Amongst the 99% of the population that has never heard of Captain Beefheart, the music snob is a source of endless mirth and condescension. To the masses, we who listen to the symphonies of Icelandic pedants playing a guitar with a cello bow are merely enjoying music for the heightened sense of smug superiority that it offers, rather than any actual artistic merit.

We worship Radiohead and Mogwai, and rave about Fleet Foxes’ debut album. But, heaven forbid, Fleet Foxes achieve even a modicum of success with subsequent releases, will it be predicated on a subtle but noteworthy shift towards placating the masses, or purely on the creation of even more stunning melodies and harmonies than the debut? And if that success follows, will we, the snobs, truly enjoy it, or spurn those who were once our darlings purely because they became the new infatuation of the unwashed masses? Would the masses be wrong? We are so inextricably tied to our taste in music – very personality can be defined by it – that to admit to a liking of the wildly popular is to admit membership of that lowest common denominator collective, rather than exist in the rarified heights we are wont to revel in.

But what about the counterargument? That what the masses listen to is indeed garbage? Is it compulsory to sell out to make it beyond indie radio and publications such as this one? Rare it is when a band manages to combine genuine credibility with platinum records. In short, are we right?

Perhaps it would be wise to de-rhetorify some of those ruminations, though. The idea that history will bear us out is a powerful one. The ultimate shift in the musical landscape has been in the popularity of music that challenges. Once, when Dylan went electric, despite the opprobrium afforded him by old folkies, the wider listening public embraced his nascent folk-rock, and an entirely greater level of superstardom beckoned. The Beatles’ White Album is one of the world’s favourites, yet it has ‘Revolution 9’ on it.

To make a record that simultaneously challenges and thrills the wider populace is a rare thing. Rare, in fact, to the point where the discerning listener begins to despair for the lack of patience among those who would not spend the time to actively seek out their music, but have it presented to them – on radio, television, or by iTunes’ ubiquitous ‘if you like this, you’ll love…’ suggestion tables.

But future recognition for present-day musical taste isn’t quite enough for me. I feel happy to sit in my little haughty bubble, listening to TV on the Radio and King Crimson and feel self-righteous about my superior taste in tunes. The masses are wrong. Robbie Williams is shit, and Snow Patrol have sold out, and that’s a bad thing. Making music that will appeal to only the casual listener is a betrayal of fans who sought depth and intelligence from their favourite band. Unfortunately, one dollar from a once-a-month iTunes visitor is as good as a fanatical rock addict with a lounge room wall filled with vinyl. But they’re wrong. I’m right. You, dear reader, are right. Stay strong, hold your bands up to a higher standard than they may hold themselves.

And Snow Patrol suck.