Nails on a blackboard, maybe

I wandered into the shop next door for a few moments, and someone was blasting Alanis Morissette's "All I Really Want" from behind the machinery. (I was, of course, most amazed that I recognized it immediately; I tend to follow Dawn Eden's dictum, "I don't consider myself legally bound to know about any music past 1968.")

As the song wound down, two guys were standing in front of the stereo rig, and, said one of them, "That was Trent Reznor, by the way."