I was still contriving a narrative about my tastes, even if I didn’t necessarily share it with anyone. Still it is a very seductive idea, that our taste is like a fingerprint, a snowflake, and that when we find out fully what it really is, we see at last, concretely, how ineffable our soul is. We listen to Pandora, click the thumbs up or down to approve songs, let the formulas work their magic, and continue to attenuate our authentic self in pure isolation.

Good Popmatters piece on Pandora and the “ideological fiction” of music taste. A whole bunch of my Poptimist columns in Pitchfork have touched on this - without mentioning Zizek, I must admit.