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Human music is... strange, as light weight and organic as humans themselves, all based around the frequencies audible to humans. Not at all like Cybertronian music, with its strut-shaking depths and EM ripples, and for the most part, she lets her humans listen to what they like and ignores it.
Then one day, Dean comes storming out of the motel room, something clutched tight in his fist. Her olfactory sensors don't detect more than the usual amounts of alcohol, so John's not on a post-hunt binge, and John isn't at the door, roaring at Dean to get his ass inside, so he and Dean haven't been fighting, and Sammy isn't staring mournfully after him through the cracked-open motel door, which means they haven't been fighting either. Which probably means Dean's upset over nothing more earthshaking than being fourteen and human.
He slams her door as he slides into the driver's seat, and crams the item in his hand - a cassette - into her tape deck. She's tempted to let it wind a few times around the deck's capstan in retaliation for the slamming, but really, if her boys can't throw their tantrums against her, who's left?
Then Dean roughly backs her out of her parking space and heads for the road, hitting play once they're shooting along at 60+.
The first notes slam right through her, vibrating down to her spark chamber. Dean bellows along, voice cracking occasionally, lyrics bearing only a passing resemblance to what's on the tape, and she doesn't care, because it's the closest thing to...well, Cybertron's not home any more, but the closest thing to familiar she's heard since hitting Earth.
She cranks the volume, knowing Dean won't notice that any more than he's noticed that his driving and her responses have nothing to do with one another, and starts scanning the airwaves. This is something she wants to encourage.