Listening to a re-mixed version of a song my roommate and I had both heard, we got into a little debate. He said he liked the older version better, because the singer was more on-key. I liked the new one -- it was more visceral.

This epitomizes every musical disagreement we've ever had.

One of his favorite records is Sufjan Stevens' Illinois, an album I sort of respect but don't really enjoy. On the other hand, my favorite album ever is Neutral Milk Hotel's In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, an album he appreciates but doesn't enjoy to the same degree.

He likes Illinois because of its technical appeal. On paper, it's an interesting piece of music. There's all kinds of weird time signatures and stuff, and it's unique without sounding weird. I can appreciate being experimental without conceding accessibility, but my problem is that there's no reason for Stevens to make the music in the first place. It's a concept album about a state Stevens has only visited, and as such the lyrics come off like a middle school term paper. Sufjan Stevens is a fantastic musician, but he's got no idea what art is. His songs are just a vehicle for his music, and that's not enough for me.

Then we have In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. Jeff Mangum doesn't play a chord progression that hasn't been played by a thousand different folk singers, and even though the lyrics are abstract and the instrumentation is absurd (Uielleann pipes, anyone?), there's something intangible to the album that shines through more and more every time I listen to it. Mangum put the whole of himself into his music, and even though it's not that sophisticated, it's expressive and more emotive than anything I've ever heard.

To make a sports analogy, Sufjan is Todd Marinovich -- everything looks good on paper, but there's something missing inside. He's got all the technical ability in the world, but without that one intangible thing, he's a total bust. Neutral Milk Hotel, on the other hand, is Tom Brady. On paper, he's a late round draft pick and a career back up: all the overused chord progressions and repetitively plaintive vocals of Mangum translate to Brady's lack of arm strength or mobility. But somehow, they both make it work. Brady may end up as one of the best quarterbacks of all time, and Mangum made my favorite album of all-time. Sufjan Stevens, on the other hand, much like Robo QB Todd Marinovich, will probably be forgotten.

There were two good shows this weekend featuring Pennsylvania bands: on Friday, Dr. Horsemachine and the Moneynotes, the Minor White, and Paul Rogai -- all from Scranton -- played, and on Saturday, Illinois and Drink Up, Buttercup (both from Doylestown) as well as Cloverleaf (State College via Pittsburgh) performed.

But that's not what I want to talk about.

Friday's show was at Chronic Town and Saturday's was at the State Theatre -- two decidedly different venues. But where they were similar (at least in this case) was the fact that, until the headlining bands took the stage, the audience at both locales remained seated. In Chronic Town, there are a bunch of armchairs and sofas and a lot of floor space, whereas at the State Theatre there are simply theater-style seats.

Maybe I was tired, maybe the bands weren't that energetic, or maybe I'm just a bad person, but I would have been fine sitting through the entire performance on either night. Typically, if I'm standing the whole show, I usually dance a little bit. Not a whole lot, but more than an average amount of judgment or self-awareness should dictate. But this weekend, I felt like sitting, and I think a lot of other people did, too.

I probably would have stayed seated for the duration of the night in both cases this weekend had the rest of the crowd (most of it, at least) not stood up and obstructed my view. And I think most of these people would have stayed seated, too, were it not for a few people standing. In both cases, I overheard cadres of people talking amongst themselves, saying to each other, "Why is everyone sitting? We need to get everyone up and moving!"

This is not the job of the audience, much less a small, small portion of it. The entire crowd was forced to stand -- perhaps against their will, perhaps not -- and it was solely because a few selfish concert goers thought it their duty to make everyone dance.

As an arts reporter, I don't get to break many stories, but here's a newsflash: people go to nightclubs to dance. They go to concerts to hear good music. Sometimes you can hear good music at a club, and sometimes you can dance at concert. These things are not mutually exclusive, but they're not required, either.