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Aziraphale hurried into the shop and barred the door. The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter could wait. He had a much more tantalizing piece of media.
Carefully, he inserted the small, plastic disc into his record player and lowered the spindle.
Whenever Crowley said "you wouldn't like it" to something as quickly as he just had, it either meant it was bebop or something emotionally vulnerable. And apparently it wasn't bebop.
The first few jarringly scratchy chords began to play, and Aziraphale suffered through them, but quickly switched it off after the first few seconds of lyrics. He wasn't sure which part was worse -- the dreadful clanging noise, the guitar that sounded like it was being slowly tortured, or the man who declared that sometimes he feels so happy when he clearly wasn't. In any case, the song WAS most definitely bebop!
He made a mental note to tell Crowley that if you lined up every angel in heaven and asked them to describe the noise that had just occurred, not a single one of them would describe it as either velvet or underground.