rolls eyes

from this: "There's an entire Arch Snarky Commenter persona people now rush to adopt, in which they read things on the Internet and then compete to most effectively roll their eyes at it."

one thing music critics really struggle with is writing about music, and this has been one of the primary beefs we at the writemare have had with them. when they "like" an album, all they can talk about is a lead singer's life story, her "backstory" in the language of our television age. more than anything else, what gets evaluated is whether or not a particular artist or band should be making music.

it's my thinking that most listeners and fans don't hear music in this way. people who like having their self-image fed back to them watch movies. people listen to music because it sounds good to them.

critics aren't different, i don't think, at least not at first. what happens is that sooner or later they have to write six paragraphs about an album they like, and have to scramble because, for the most part, they never acquired a vocabulary capable of describing music. if you don't know what words to use in order to describe and discuss music meaningfully, you will inevitably revert to talking about people.

so i proudly roll my eyes at the above-linked column, in which nitsuh abebe discusses discussions of identity as they relate to music and musicians. "We like to imagine that the sounds [musicians are] making are some raw, uncalculated outpouring of the soul inside." i know you do.

i like writing music that makes me smile. when i was 11 years old, i didn't want to be like jimi hendrix, i wanted to play like jimi hendrix (fail, btw). like most musicians, i don't practice my soul, i practice my instrument. i can practically feel abebe's eyes rolling.

we are all john milton now

from a pitchfork "poptimist" column that i don't care to link to:

"Consumerism makes Miltons of us all."

this from a writer who actually BOASTS about having forgotten all but a single line of Paradise Lost.

listen, Tom Ewing (hopefully he's got a google alert on his own name), consumerism makes us many things: petty, forgetful, arrogant, judgmental, blind to the suffering of others, alienated, furious, etc. but not, i repeat NOT, divinely inspired poets.

by the by, work and this one pretty dame have prevented me from blogging recently. also weed. fortunately nobody cares.

anyway, how's your biblical epic coming along? mine's okay, i guess.

everything's gone

hi. i just wrote a column about minimalism without mentioning a single minimalist. i end up calling an idea john cage came up with "enoid" (an adjective meaning as or pertaining to eno). then i talk about facebook and apps for a while. i'm not sure if i've listened to steve reich or terry riley.

i say things like this: "Pop, for instance, is becoming more iterative."

i ask questions like this: "Why is this sound here instead of not?"

i began this whole thing with an anecdote about a bar with exposed pipes. i'm most likely a suburban twat, so this struck me as a very provocative decision.

i eat pieces of shit for breakfast.