There is a decent spiel about the merits of pop music in the book The Steppenwolf by Herman Hesse. The female protagonist argues that pure serious listening to the exclusion of all else precludes certain experiences. In the book its a toss up between Der Steppenvulf being alone in his room listening to classical or dancing with young women at a jazz club.
Pop music is largely poop and I think it's worthless to use it as a measuring stick, however I occasionally listen to light stuff like Okkervil River, David Bowie or Parov Stelar because unrelenting atonal frostbitten rotting grimness can be insalubrious, man.