If you have trolled the pages of Pitchforkmedia recently, you would've noticed their obsession with naming albums they love as "Best New Music."
They review 5 albums a day, and they usually manage to sneak in a best new music every week. Seems like a lot, huh?
Well, it is. Anyways, a little while ago they busted their collective nuts over Deerhunter's Cryptograms. I was working in a record store at the time of its impending release. It's an album of drones and quasi-psychedelia, a pretty safe sounding indie venture. Nothing to write home about, just a predictable second album.
Well, Pitchfork will not shut up about them, making it their mission to boost visibility for the group and ride the critical coattails if any fame is found (a la Dismemberment Plan). So, they write anything about the band. Anything.
You think I'm kidding? Look at this piece of tripe titled "Hey, Remember Deerhunter? We Haven't Written About Them in, Like, a Week! Did You Miss Them?"
No, I didn't miss them. In fact, I was just getting used to your stupid webpage forgetting about your stupid mission of hype. Perhaps I'm jumping the gun here. Let's see what this bit of news has to say about the band's music.
In the market for a Macbook Pro battery? Perhaps a slightly used pair of men's sneakers, sized 10.5? Or how 'bout an embroidered "Makaveli Branded" Tupac t-shirt? I knew we'd get you with that last one.
Typical indie sarcasm leads off this bit. And no, I don't want any of these items. I thought this article was about Deerhunter.
You'll want to make your way over to the world's dustbin-- eBay, that is-- where Deerhunter frontguy Bradford Cox is selling all this and more.
This is a music website. It is about music and music criticism. This article is...it's, well, a plug for an eBay sale. Unless they were superdrunk, they didn't have any reason to write this, other than the fact that they are obviously in bed with Deerhunter and their label, Kranky. Sorry Kranky, I love you as a record label, but this is some fucked up collusion shit. There is no other explanation for this article. Since when has a band used a well-regarded music website to trumpet their eBay sale? Never, and for a good fucking reason. It's wrong.
The article goes on a for a little while but the damage was done. I'm sure it's not the only reason, but guitarist Colin Mee left Deerhunter today for the following reasons:
"This sense of being overwhelmed was exacerbated by the fact that I felt we were receiving (and creating) too much press that had nothing to do with any new music being created. I don't want to be overexposed. I don't want the world to know what our excrement looks like or what we are selling on eBay or whether we got robbed. I think that it devalues the music and it is just a way to maintain attention when the music should just speak for itself.
Nice one Pitchfork, you contributed to the loss of a guitarist! Now YOU, Pitchfork, are the news, which is what you wanted all along, right? It was pathetic enough to let that article be printed and available to read to the general public, but now, upon realizing that your article had an impact on the band, you must be REALLY pleased with yourselves.
This is the exact kind of bullshit I can't stand. The critics and music news companies should be respected, and yes, they have to push their own product, but it's depressing and sad to see this display of media manipulation.
Who the fuck needs needs to know about a fucking eBay sale?! Save that shit for the band's unofficial fan website, where they probably talk about the band's wardrobe, who played Magic: The Gathering growing up, or who sucks at checkers. Save the bullshit for the fans.
Don't become the bullshit.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Having Good Taste is So Awesome
i came across this article in pitchfork the other day. the twenty words or less version: people should chuck their old music and expand their taste. sort of an unremarkable argument, no?
but there's something rather perfect about this piece, as if the author actually set out to prove his own deeply embarrassing snobbery. take, for instance, this second paragraph boast: "I had friends who were music heads but among them I was the chief music head. I would give my records away to them!" (mirabile dictu! who on earth but a true chief head would do such a thing?!) this establishes the perspective the whole article is written from: there may be other people who like music, but heck if this guy isn't cooler than all of them. adolescent as that may sound, there's a deeper flaw here, one that shows just how shallow mr. ewing really is.
you see, he says he loves talking about music -- loves the idea of music as a social lubricator. "I'd found myself adrift and lonely at 18, then had made friends with a bunch of people who were as passionate about music as I was. We talked and argued about it non-stop." liking "cool" music, then, is a way for lonely people to make friends. in that respect, it's fine. but the curious thing is that these lonely people, seemingly peer-pressured into their interest in music, have become exactly the people america goes to for suggestions. how could someone so painfully self-centered and image-conscious become a trendsetter?
answer: by knowing MORE than YOU. to critics, telling people about music is more fun than listening to it, which explains quite a lot. the goal is to know as many bands as possible (think of this as the liberal arts approach, which understands the height of intelligence to be a well-prepared jeopardy contestant). the entire concept of expertise has been fundamentally altered, and by a bunch of english majors in tight pants.
part of the motivation for the article seems to be genuine. dude wants people to know that their tastes needn't be set in stone. thing is, most people are already aware of this, because most people have a hidden cache of shameful, tasteless purchases. for example, before pubic hair, i was into r & b (tony, toni, toné; TLC; etc.) and commercial hip-hop (craig mac's "brand new flava in ya ear" is more or less always stuck in my head). if i were to hear that music now, it would strike me as corporate, uninspired, lacking ingenuity. clearly, my tastes have changed. most people, even those who don't particularly like music, have experienced something like this more than once. this, alone, cannot be ewing's point, because even for pitchfork it would be too inane.
ewing's revelation -- and remember he got paid for this epiphany -- is that there are all sorts of totally neat ways to find new music. you can search for random words on P2P software! you can make yourself an expert on a single year! (his two examples are 1975 and 1984, because there wasn't any music made before marketable rock.) you can even listen to some of the crazy shit that foreigners like!!!
this sounds more like the conduct of a man at a wine-tasting (sampling all sorts of things, but spitting them all out without once getting drunk) rather than some sort of music connoisseur. ultimately, ewing admits this: "I had the luxury of detaching myself from [my taste] and trying new ones as I might clothes or haircuts."
there you have it: music as accessory, from the very person whose job is ostensibly to judge music on its artistic merits. how can ewing be expected to recognize good music when he actually BRAGS about liking it superficially? i've always suspected that various year-end "best of" lists are actually counting down fashion statements rather than works of art. now i have my proof.
finally, my childhood hero was patrick ewing, a truly divine man. it has pained me to criticize someone with his last name. if you're reading this, patrick -- come back! the knicks need your sweaty, sweaty brow.
but there's something rather perfect about this piece, as if the author actually set out to prove his own deeply embarrassing snobbery. take, for instance, this second paragraph boast: "I had friends who were music heads but among them I was the chief music head. I would give my records away to them!" (mirabile dictu! who on earth but a true chief head would do such a thing?!) this establishes the perspective the whole article is written from: there may be other people who like music, but heck if this guy isn't cooler than all of them. adolescent as that may sound, there's a deeper flaw here, one that shows just how shallow mr. ewing really is.
you see, he says he loves talking about music -- loves the idea of music as a social lubricator. "I'd found myself adrift and lonely at 18, then had made friends with a bunch of people who were as passionate about music as I was. We talked and argued about it non-stop." liking "cool" music, then, is a way for lonely people to make friends. in that respect, it's fine. but the curious thing is that these lonely people, seemingly peer-pressured into their interest in music, have become exactly the people america goes to for suggestions. how could someone so painfully self-centered and image-conscious become a trendsetter?
answer: by knowing MORE than YOU. to critics, telling people about music is more fun than listening to it, which explains quite a lot. the goal is to know as many bands as possible (think of this as the liberal arts approach, which understands the height of intelligence to be a well-prepared jeopardy contestant). the entire concept of expertise has been fundamentally altered, and by a bunch of english majors in tight pants.
part of the motivation for the article seems to be genuine. dude wants people to know that their tastes needn't be set in stone. thing is, most people are already aware of this, because most people have a hidden cache of shameful, tasteless purchases. for example, before pubic hair, i was into r & b (tony, toni, toné; TLC; etc.) and commercial hip-hop (craig mac's "brand new flava in ya ear" is more or less always stuck in my head). if i were to hear that music now, it would strike me as corporate, uninspired, lacking ingenuity. clearly, my tastes have changed. most people, even those who don't particularly like music, have experienced something like this more than once. this, alone, cannot be ewing's point, because even for pitchfork it would be too inane.
ewing's revelation -- and remember he got paid for this epiphany -- is that there are all sorts of totally neat ways to find new music. you can search for random words on P2P software! you can make yourself an expert on a single year! (his two examples are 1975 and 1984, because there wasn't any music made before marketable rock.) you can even listen to some of the crazy shit that foreigners like!!!
this sounds more like the conduct of a man at a wine-tasting (sampling all sorts of things, but spitting them all out without once getting drunk) rather than some sort of music connoisseur. ultimately, ewing admits this: "I had the luxury of detaching myself from [my taste] and trying new ones as I might clothes or haircuts."
there you have it: music as accessory, from the very person whose job is ostensibly to judge music on its artistic merits. how can ewing be expected to recognize good music when he actually BRAGS about liking it superficially? i've always suspected that various year-end "best of" lists are actually counting down fashion statements rather than works of art. now i have my proof.
finally, my childhood hero was patrick ewing, a truly divine man. it has pained me to criticize someone with his last name. if you're reading this, patrick -- come back! the knicks need your sweaty, sweaty brow.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Keith Richards Plays a Good Show
STOCKHOLM, Sweden (AP) - Rolling Stones guitarist Keith Richards has demanded an apology from Swedish newspapers for their scathing reviews of the group's performance in the country earlier this month.Tabloids Expressen and Aftonbladet gave thumbs down to the Aug. 3 concert at Ullevi stadium in Goteborg, with Expressen suggesting Richards was "superdrunk" on stage.
"This is a first!" the 63-year-old rock star wrote in a letter published by Stockholm daily Dagens Nyheter. "Never before have I risen to the bait of a bad review.
"But this time ... I have to stand up ... for our fans all over Sweden ... to say that you owe them, and us, an apology."
This is awesomely dramatic stuff. Keith Richards being offended by a rando music critic calling him superdrunk. Not just drunk, but superdrunk. And why does this offend the king of drugs and drink? Let's talk about the letter.
Dagens Nyheter said it received the letter from concert organizer EMA Telstar. Company head Thomas Johansson told The Associated Press that Richards wrote the letter and gave it to him after reading translations of the Swedish reviews.
"There were 56,000 people in Ullevi stadium who bought a ticket to our concert - and experienced a completely different show than the one you 'reviewed,'" the letter said.
"How dare you cheapen the experience for them - and for the hundreds of thousands of other people across Sweden who weren't at Ullevi and have only your 'review' to go on.
Look, I'm sure the 50,000 or so Swedes had a great time at the show. They were all happy and superdrunk with you. It's true, going to a great show and enjoying the experience is one thing. Reading that your great experience was actually a hugely shitty time by one dismissive critic can sometimes kill the buzz. But leave the complaining to the fans, Keef. Maybe all of these fans gave you the benefit of the doubt and clapped no matter how crappy your old hands play the guitar.
In his review, Aftonbladet's music writer Markus Larsson gave the concert a score of two on a five-point scale, and said Richards appeared "a bit confused."
"I am not going to apologize for my subjective opinion," Larsson told the paper's Web edition on Wednesday. "It is Keith who should apologize. After all it costs around 1,000 kronor ($145) to see a rock star who can hardly handle the (guitar) riff to 'Brown Sugar' any more."
This is a great example of critic's affect on the musician. Of all the bizarre times for Keith to complain about a bad critique, this takes the cake. They are band of old older guys who famously said they wouldn't be playing their old hits when they were 60. Well, here we are, wallowing in your stale remakes and terrible solo outings.
Do I think the review was wrong in its harshness? No, that's what Larsson felt, and if he wants to be cynical and hard-to-please, that's his prerogative.
Also, the part about how he can't even play 'Brown Sugar' is classic.Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Rock and Roll NBA Foreva
Yup. Manute Bol and Muggsy Bogues know how to fucking rock shit up!* If only the hippo had a bigger drum kit...also, what kind of music would they play?
Discuss.
Discuss.
*Thanks to JJ for pointing out that I confused my tiny guards. No disrespect meant towards Spud, Mugsy, Earl Boynkins, basically everyone who's small but rocks with a huge heart.
It's been a long couple of posts, this one will be brief. As much as it may sound like I want to physically harm these critics, I don't. Sometimes I just want to read a record review that talks about the music.In these glorious days of watered-down media that is shared between 5 huge companies, it's easy for stuff to fall through the cracks.
Like this guy, being swallowed from all sides by a ridiculously great drum set up. That guy's gonna have to get to makin' some drummin' babies or most of the those drums will go through life without ever being touched.
In order to play all of these drums, the stickman would have to held in midair by cables so he could hover and glide around. Not sure how he would man the kick, but who gives.
Stuff I've been listening to lately:
Pearls Before Swine: Amazing late 60's to mid 70's acid folk. The original masters were lost a while ago, so if you want to hear what your parents blazed to, find the vinyl. Otherwise, the CD I have of the first two records is great (try to avoid wasting the money and get them together, fool!). One Nation Underground and Balaklava are both packed with obscure goodies, like the ghostly clavinet on "Another Time" and the broken-down garage of "Uncle John", coupled with the power of "I Saw the World" as Rapp calls and a full orchestra responds. Aging acid-heads can't be wrong!
Neil Young - On the BeachI don't just like that Neil 'cause he hates critics. This record is almost flawless in my mind. The mood of the music, the talent of the players, the emotional depth of the songs, it's all here. Coupled with one of Neil's best album covers, song for song you can't do better. Graham Nash stops by to blaze and play electric keys on the title track, Rusty Kershaw plays some unbelievably beautiful microphone-knocking fiddle, and half of the The Band make "Vampire Blues" shudder and stomp. Neil actually chased super-engineer Al Schmidt away from the recordings with his band's antics. Made under the influence of honey sliders (pot cooked in a lot butter and honey), this record kicks ass and takes names, and then the second side lets you float into the sea with all of your friends.
J Dilla - DonutsThis record just keeps growing and growing on me. It's bar none the best hip-hop record of last year, despite Clipse's attempts to win my heart over with their crack deal swagger. Almost 40 tracks, packed to the brim with more ideas than 20 Neptunes records put together, all with the now-familiar chugging beats and swirling psychedelic neo-soul grind. I can't start my day with hearing "Workinonit", it just doesn't happen. Even though it sounds dense, the beats are usually simple as all hell. As my good friend Jonathan would say, Soooooooooooooooooooo good.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Music? What music?
Ever since Pitchfork gave And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Death... a 10 out 10 rating, I've been obsessed with finding out what makes the least perfect record in their eyes.
Liz Phair has done the deed. 20 to 30 year olds males fell in love with her indie-rock raunch and roll, and fell even harder when you realize you can kind of see her nipple in the liner notes.
Anyways, nothing kills a hipster erection like a mainstream cross-over, and Liz did just that, although she did talk about cum and other fun eyebrow-raising matter. Matt LeMay hates this album more than he hates Smashmouth and U2 combined! Also, he doesn't know how to talk about music, so he uses words like "depth" and "transparent." All in a days work at Pitchfork!
It could be said that Liz Phair's greatest asset has always been her inability to write a perfect pop song.
Nope. That's wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. She wrote great songs, kaput. And indie producer Brad Wood helped wrap it in nice little gems. To say that she was never able to write perfect pop songs
On her 1993 debut, Exile in Guyville, Phair's gruff voice wrapped awkward non-hooks around flimsy, transparent chord progressions, resulting in (to everyone's surprise) a certifiable indie roadtrip classic. It still stands as a powerfully confrontational album, skirting convention yet marked by Phair's striking awareness of her own limitations.
I like this early pattern of putting down Phair's talent. Non-hooks? Transparent chord progressions? So, the progressions aren't even there? This is retarded. Please learn how to write about music. And wait, "indie roadtrip classic?" Why is it only roadtrip worthy?
Unfortunately, it seems that Phair has spent the better part of her post-Exile career trying to gloss over the very limitations that made her original statement so profound. Though her second album, Whip-Smart, had a few choice moments which recalled the insight and complexity of Exile, it ultimately seemed like a much more calculated affair.
I can't say this enough, but, what the fuck? He just said that Exile was full of non-hooks, and was apparently transparent. How did it suddenly become complex and insightful? Are you paying attention to what you're writing?
Things didn't start to go horribly awry, of course, until Phair's next album, Whitechocolatespaceegg. That record's attempts to radio-ize her sound only dismantled the depth of her music-- if not the awkwardness-- resulting in an odd batch of songs that perhaps encapsulated Phair's faulty view of what constitutes a radio-friendly album.
This is such a clusterfuck. I need to go back and figure out what the F he's talking about
Exile In Guyville - imperfect, gruff, full of awkward non-hooks, flimsy, transparent, limited, insightful, complex, deep
Read that again. He's describing the same album, and no, it's not complimentary. Does he like the album? Does he hate it? This is crap. This guy is writing an entirely schizophrenic piece. Within the first two paragraphs he's contradicting himself. Awful.
And he hasn't even touched the record he's supposed to be REVIEWING yet! This is madness!
Liz Phair has done the deed. 20 to 30 year olds males fell in love with her indie-rock raunch and roll, and fell even harder when you realize you can kind of see her nipple in the liner notes.
Anyways, nothing kills a hipster erection like a mainstream cross-over, and Liz did just that, although she did talk about cum and other fun eyebrow-raising matter. Matt LeMay hates this album more than he hates Smashmouth and U2 combined! Also, he doesn't know how to talk about music, so he uses words like "depth" and "transparent." All in a days work at Pitchfork!
It could be said that Liz Phair's greatest asset has always been her inability to write a perfect pop song.
Nope. That's wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. She wrote great songs, kaput. And indie producer Brad Wood helped wrap it in nice little gems. To say that she was never able to write perfect pop songs
On her 1993 debut, Exile in Guyville, Phair's gruff voice wrapped awkward non-hooks around flimsy, transparent chord progressions, resulting in (to everyone's surprise) a certifiable indie roadtrip classic. It still stands as a powerfully confrontational album, skirting convention yet marked by Phair's striking awareness of her own limitations.
I like this early pattern of putting down Phair's talent. Non-hooks? Transparent chord progressions? So, the progressions aren't even there? This is retarded. Please learn how to write about music. And wait, "indie roadtrip classic?" Why is it only roadtrip worthy?
Unfortunately, it seems that Phair has spent the better part of her post-Exile career trying to gloss over the very limitations that made her original statement so profound. Though her second album, Whip-Smart, had a few choice moments which recalled the insight and complexity of Exile, it ultimately seemed like a much more calculated affair.
I can't say this enough, but, what the fuck? He just said that Exile was full of non-hooks, and was apparently transparent. How did it suddenly become complex and insightful? Are you paying attention to what you're writing?
Things didn't start to go horribly awry, of course, until Phair's next album, Whitechocolatespaceegg. That record's attempts to radio-ize her sound only dismantled the depth of her music-- if not the awkwardness-- resulting in an odd batch of songs that perhaps encapsulated Phair's faulty view of what constitutes a radio-friendly album.
This is such a clusterfuck. I need to go back and figure out what the F he's talking about
Exile In Guyville - imperfect, gruff, full of awkward non-hooks, flimsy, transparent, limited, insightful, complex, deep
Read that again. He's describing the same album, and no, it's not complimentary. Does he like the album? Does he hate it? This is crap. This guy is writing an entirely schizophrenic piece. Within the first two paragraphs he's contradicting himself. Awful.
And he hasn't even touched the record he's supposed to be REVIEWING yet! This is madness!
Ten years on from Exile, Liz has finally managed to achieve what seems to have been her goal ever since the possibility of commercial success first presented itself to her: to release an album that could have just as easily been made by anybody else.
I'm pretty sure that wasn't her goal. She just did, so deal with it. Oh yeah, you're just filling this review with empty anti-mainstream rhetoric, so what's the point?
Even the songs on Liz Phair that could be considered "shocking" or "profound" are gratuitous and overdetermined, eschewing the stark and accusatory insights of Exile in favor of pointless f-bombs, manipulative ballads, and foul-mouthed shmeminism.
You threw a lot of big words in there, but what are you saying? Anything about the music? Maybe? Anytime soon?
Liz Phair has always been known for her vulgarity, but on Exile and parts of Whip-Smart, she put that trait to good use. On "Fuck and Run", a standout from Exile, Phair used the word's negative connotations as a means of pointed self-deprecation and lamented, "Whatever happened to a boyfriend/ The kind of guy who makes love cause he's in it/ I want a boyfriend/ I want all that stupid old shit/ Letters and sodas."
Hi, my name is Matt LeMay. I'm in love with the past. I want to always live in 1994. I want Liz Phair posters hanging above my bed. I can't come to terms with my sex rock idol selling out and making a cheesy rock record, so I give the album a 0.0 because I'm an idiot. Also, I apparently have no idea how to talk about music without using vague adjectives that better describe articles of clothing.
"Flower", Phair's most notorious track to date, reads like a laundry list of graphic sexual desires, but rather than paint a uniformly flattering portrait of her love interest, he's immature, he's obnoxious, and despite it all, she still wants to fuck his brains out-- a simple, necessarily crude semi-contradiction that speaks volumes.
OK, I get it now. Matt LeMay is immature, obnoxious, and still gets jiggy with rando girls. Liz was the only rocker who got him. I now understand his problems with this album. Oh yeah, he's STILL NOT TALKING ABOUT THE NEW RECORD.
"Flower" would seem to have a descendent in "H.W.C." ("Hot White Cum"), in which Phair extols the virtue of semen as a beauty aid ("...Dear Cosmo: Splooge, The New Rouge!"). But, unlike the complex, alternatingly cocky and self-effacing sexuality of "Flower," "H.W.C."'s unqualified sperm-praise is entirely vain and degrading. Even more degrading is the constipated donkeyfuck harmonica solo towards the track's end, a hilarious sideshow that only magnifies the triteness of the song's glycerin-slick production.
Alright, I'll at least concede that the donkeyfuck harmonica thing is funny, but can I point out that he referred to none of the music on the track? Anything? Guitars, bass, keyboards, fucking kazoo? I don't think that's unreasonable to ask for in a music review.
Though "H.W.C." is without question the best water-cooler conversation piece on Liz Phair, "Rock Me" makes for a close second. Here, Phair sings exuberantly about the benefits of an affair with a younger guy including-- I shit you not-- "[playing] Xbox on [his] floor." In between choruses of, "Baby baby baby if it's alright/ Want you to rock me all night," Phair declares, "I'm starting to think that young guys rule!" without a trace of self-doubt or reflection.
Here we go, another specific song mentioned. He has an entire paragraph to mention a single note of the music and he strikes out. I know the music is trite and recycled, but can you at least write that out? It would help.
It's hard to imagine that the Liz Phair of ten years ago wouldn't have had something profound and devastating to say about older women who shack up with clueless college kids, but on "Rock Me"-- as on the rest of Liz Phair-- vapid, clich�-filled rhyme couplets dominate.
What? Isn't it "profound" to say that she wants to suck off a young dude? Isn't that well within her crude/saucy tastes? He's really sticking to the lyrics here when I'd like to hear about the music.
Take, for example, the album's first single, "Why Can't I", "co"-written by Avril Lavigne songwriting team The Matrix. With a chorus of, "Why can't I breathe whenever I think about you?" and a cookie-cutter rock/pop background, the song could easily pass for Michelle Branch. The lyric, "We haven't fucked yet/ But my head's still spinning," seemingly seeks to set Phair apart from the teen-pop crowd, but the use of the word is completely gratuitous-- change it to "kissed" and stick a 16-year-old girl in front of the mic and no one could tell the difference.
Awesome. He finally talked about music, using the "cookie-cutter" thing. I know that the music is formulaic, but that's just half-assed at this point. I've already waxed poetic about this shit, everyone knows it happens. Liz Phair ages, needs money, tries to make a crossover record, perhaps for her and her daughter's well-being. That's all you had to write. I know it sucks when artists do this, but it happens. The cash comes-a-callin'. If you watched TV for 24 hours you can hear 10 Who songs, I guarantee it.
Only on "Little Digger" does Phair attempt to tackle subject matter unique to the circumstances of her own life as a 36-year-old single mother. The song has received positive press for addressing a difficult issue, as Phair sings to her son about his absent father and the new men she's dating. But the fact that anything positive could be said about this track speaks only to the overwhelming lack of substance on this record. From its cloying synthstring arrangements to its ballad-in-a-box drumbeat to its infuriatingly manipulative chorus of, "My mother is mine," "Little Digger" offers up all the insight and emotion of a UPN sitcom.
Woo hoo!! Synthstrings and a drumbeat! Let the music review begin!!
In recent interviews, Phair has been upfront about her hopes of mainstream success, and claims full awareness that Liz Phair is likely to alienate many of her original fans.
Notice the use of "claim". It means that Liz might not know what she's doing, which is preposterous. Do you honestly think someone can make an album of cloying sound-alike mainstream tracks without realizing the intent/impact? You're wrong.
What she doesn't seem to realize is that a collection of utterly generic rocked-out pop songs isn't likely to win her many new ones[fans]. It's sad that an artist as groundbreaking as Phair would be reduced to cheap publicity stunts and hyper-commercialized teen-pop.
Remember what I said about the Who? How about the Eagles? The Beatles? The Rolling Stones? ELO? The Kinks? Elvis? The Fall?
But then, this is "the album she has always wanted to make"-- one in which all of her quirks and limitations are absorbed into well-tested clich�s, and ultimately, one that may as well not even exist.
Hold it against her, man. Really, she let you down, shattered your expectations, you know, the ones you set in your head 10 years ago? Also, Matt, she's never going to fuck you, so let it go.
Next time you give a musical recording a 0 out of 10, list the musical reasons. Don't list shit about how she let you down. Save it for the Waahhhmbulance, dude.
Friday, August 24, 2007
The Expectation Machine
I've been obsessing about it all week: how one's expectations affects the way an album is experienced. As if hearing my complaints echoing in the depths of the interweb, Jason Crock of Pitchforkmedia.com decides to address the subject at hand with much aplomb. Unfortunately he doesn't really conclude anything. So much for all of that aplomb.
One thing about Pitchfork: the first thing I noticed about the site was their overwhelming support and almost deranged love of the Dismemberment Plan. Let me direct you to their "Best Albums of 1998" list.
At least I wish I could, as they seem to have taken it off of their website. I found that they gave "Emergency & I," the band's breakthrough the number 1 album of the year in 1998. Even though it came out in 1999. They even admitted to it.
When listing why an album that only they, the staff of Pitchfork had heard(the album hadn't been officially released), they just said they were excited. This is an embarrassing example of a band and an entire music publication holding hands, looking dreamily into each others eyes, and saying,"I'll help you if you help me." I'm sure there are better examples of this mutual handjob, but that's for another post.
Anywho, time for some endless postulations. This involves Crock's review of former-Dismemberment Plan leader Travis Morrison's new record All Y'all.
Is it them, or is it me? Or is it all of us? Do we as music fans hold our heroes in too-high regard, forcing them to live up to arbitrary standards that we decided they've met and can never really accomplish again?
One could say it is all of us, really. And yes, part of growing up and finding music you love is the hero worship. I was younger man when my younger brother received Smashing Pumpkins' Siamese Dreams, one of those albums that kill you with awesome fun. Radio-friendly weirdery like "Today" coupled with the prog-metal-drone of "Silverfuck" really moved the group into a world of hero worship. My expectations were admittedly high when Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness was released, and boy howdy did that record kick MORE ass than Siamese. Not many times have bands been able to meet ridiculous expectations. For every The Bends/OK Computer there are hundreds of Doolittle/Bossanova's.*
The standards couldn't be more arbitrary. But this is where critics come in. They need to temper their own expectations and review these albums with a clear mind. Pure expectations are a good basis for a fan's opinion of an album. Expectations should not be the defining element in a review, and that's where critics fall short. I'm not saying critics should completely ignore expectations, but they shouldn't use it as the back-bone of a bad review. Whew.
Is it fair to beat up on Travis Morrison for breaking up his former band and then daring to try something different?
No, it's not fair. We good? Cool.
His self-admitted heroes, often worshipped via the D-Plan's website...were Neil Young and Prince-- two musicians who mangle the expectations of their numerous fans almost yearly.
Yeah, and those guys suck. No, scratch that. Those guys are popular and legendary because they took those chances, Neil more so than Prince in my opinion (although big shout-out to The Black Album). Critics hated a lot of Neil Young stuff when it came out, especially after Harvest. Neil was expected to make quiet acoustic singer-songwriter material for the soft-rocking 70's. This he did not do, over and over again. He played with Crosby, Stills and Nash, and then he broke off. Then he played with Crazy Horse, and then left them in the dust. The guy built his career on constant change and abrupt departures.
At one point he was expected to release Homegrown, a Harvest-like down-home collection of tunes. After getting high with Rick Danko and playing him some raw tracks from an abandoned project, Rick convinced Neil to can Homegrown (much to the chagrin of his record company) and release the derisive Tonight's the Night. I've heard the Homegrown bootlegs, the thing would've sold millions.
Just to make sure, Jason Crock is holding Travis Morrison up to the same standards as Neil Young and Prince. Therefore, should he not judge the album knowing well in advance that the record may not sound the way he thinks it should.
It shouldn't have been a surprise when Morrison, free of the checks and balances of his old band, followed his muse to wherever it would go, even when those ideas were embarrassingly toothless or undercooked on his first solo record.
You're right, it shouldn't have been a surprise. It seems to me that you were surprised and a little offended at what your Holy Travis Morrison created. But you've spent all this time talking about the effects of expectation...
Is it any different than before, really, or have I changed as a listener? The D-Plan were a near-constant soundtrack to my years around the turn of the century-- would anything Morrison ever does afterward hold up?
Where to start? Notice the reference to D-Plan? Notice that fact that he's not reviewing a D-Plan album? I beg the critic to stop living in the past and fast-forward a bit.
Secondly, yes, you've changed as a listener. Everyone knows it, but no one wants to face the reality. You grow older. You're sitting there listening to Merzbow, Skip Spence and Pere Ubu. Suddenly it's 5 years later and you're loving softer tones, lighter tracks, even the 10,000 Maniacs are fine for your tender ears. What once exhilarated you is now gathering dust on your shelves. Fast forward 20 years and your ear and brain have aged quite a bit. You can't hear tones in the high frequencies, you find yourself turning down the bass and pumping the treble. And then you realize that you're listening to this guy:
You get the picture. To wish this record sounded like D-Plan is to ignore the process of aging.
Crock goes on to slam every element of this album. Nothing is safe, the arrangements, lyrics, sequencing and mixing are all not only called into question but outright slammed on. And then we're left with this ultimate paragraph.
It's a bleeding-heart fan's paradox: We keep giving favorite artists more chances because their music meant so much to us at one point in time, even though it gets increasingly less likely it ever will again.
This makes me angry. He's a die-hard D-Plan fan. How could his review not be stained by ruined expectations? Notice this: "...because their music MEANT so much..." You like an artist because their music MEANS so much to you, present tense. Crock obviously cares not for anything his beloved ex-D-Plan members try, so why have him review this album? Oh yeah, Pitchfork is based on solid support and the deranged obsession with Dismemberment Plan.
If we could listen to this record in a total vacuum, maybe we'd see All Y'all shows a lot of promising ideas with sometimes hoary execution, which is miles of improvement over the inadvisable Travistan.
As a critic, you should be able to listen to a record in a vacuum of some sort. Least of all, you should be able to measure a record fairly against past output, not just cling to past glories and frown upon any deviation from the assigned expected path you set in your head.
It's not that hard. If you don't like an album, you're allowed to talk about the past, but you can't use "in the good old days" rhetoric as the foundation of your criticism. Unless you're an old, old man, Crock. And I will assume that you are. You'll probably need these:
One thing about Pitchfork: the first thing I noticed about the site was their overwhelming support and almost deranged love of the Dismemberment Plan. Let me direct you to their "Best Albums of 1998" list.
At least I wish I could, as they seem to have taken it off of their website. I found that they gave "Emergency & I," the band's breakthrough the number 1 album of the year in 1998. Even though it came out in 1999. They even admitted to it.
When listing why an album that only they, the staff of Pitchfork had heard(the album hadn't been officially released), they just said they were excited. This is an embarrassing example of a band and an entire music publication holding hands, looking dreamily into each others eyes, and saying,"I'll help you if you help me." I'm sure there are better examples of this mutual handjob, but that's for another post.
Anywho, time for some endless postulations. This involves Crock's review of former-Dismemberment Plan leader Travis Morrison's new record All Y'all.
Is it them, or is it me? Or is it all of us? Do we as music fans hold our heroes in too-high regard, forcing them to live up to arbitrary standards that we decided they've met and can never really accomplish again?
One could say it is all of us, really. And yes, part of growing up and finding music you love is the hero worship. I was younger man when my younger brother received Smashing Pumpkins' Siamese Dreams, one of those albums that kill you with awesome fun. Radio-friendly weirdery like "Today" coupled with the prog-metal-drone of "Silverfuck" really moved the group into a world of hero worship. My expectations were admittedly high when Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness was released, and boy howdy did that record kick MORE ass than Siamese. Not many times have bands been able to meet ridiculous expectations. For every The Bends/OK Computer there are hundreds of Doolittle/Bossanova's.*
The standards couldn't be more arbitrary. But this is where critics come in. They need to temper their own expectations and review these albums with a clear mind. Pure expectations are a good basis for a fan's opinion of an album. Expectations should not be the defining element in a review, and that's where critics fall short. I'm not saying critics should completely ignore expectations, but they shouldn't use it as the back-bone of a bad review. Whew.
Is it fair to beat up on Travis Morrison for breaking up his former band and then daring to try something different?
No, it's not fair. We good? Cool.
His self-admitted heroes, often worshipped via the D-Plan's website...were Neil Young and Prince-- two musicians who mangle the expectations of their numerous fans almost yearly.
Yeah, and those guys suck. No, scratch that. Those guys are popular and legendary because they took those chances, Neil more so than Prince in my opinion (although big shout-out to The Black Album). Critics hated a lot of Neil Young stuff when it came out, especially after Harvest. Neil was expected to make quiet acoustic singer-songwriter material for the soft-rocking 70's. This he did not do, over and over again. He played with Crosby, Stills and Nash, and then he broke off. Then he played with Crazy Horse, and then left them in the dust. The guy built his career on constant change and abrupt departures.
At one point he was expected to release Homegrown, a Harvest-like down-home collection of tunes. After getting high with Rick Danko and playing him some raw tracks from an abandoned project, Rick convinced Neil to can Homegrown (much to the chagrin of his record company) and release the derisive Tonight's the Night. I've heard the Homegrown bootlegs, the thing would've sold millions.
Just to make sure, Jason Crock is holding Travis Morrison up to the same standards as Neil Young and Prince. Therefore, should he not judge the album knowing well in advance that the record may not sound the way he thinks it should.
It shouldn't have been a surprise when Morrison, free of the checks and balances of his old band, followed his muse to wherever it would go, even when those ideas were embarrassingly toothless or undercooked on his first solo record.
You're right, it shouldn't have been a surprise. It seems to me that you were surprised and a little offended at what your Holy Travis Morrison created. But you've spent all this time talking about the effects of expectation...
Is it any different than before, really, or have I changed as a listener? The D-Plan were a near-constant soundtrack to my years around the turn of the century-- would anything Morrison ever does afterward hold up?
Where to start? Notice the reference to D-Plan? Notice that fact that he's not reviewing a D-Plan album? I beg the critic to stop living in the past and fast-forward a bit.
Secondly, yes, you've changed as a listener. Everyone knows it, but no one wants to face the reality. You grow older. You're sitting there listening to Merzbow, Skip Spence and Pere Ubu. Suddenly it's 5 years later and you're loving softer tones, lighter tracks, even the 10,000 Maniacs are fine for your tender ears. What once exhilarated you is now gathering dust on your shelves. Fast forward 20 years and your ear and brain have aged quite a bit. You can't hear tones in the high frequencies, you find yourself turning down the bass and pumping the treble. And then you realize that you're listening to this guy:
You get the picture. To wish this record sounded like D-Plan is to ignore the process of aging.
Crock goes on to slam every element of this album. Nothing is safe, the arrangements, lyrics, sequencing and mixing are all not only called into question but outright slammed on. And then we're left with this ultimate paragraph.
It's a bleeding-heart fan's paradox: We keep giving favorite artists more chances because their music meant so much to us at one point in time, even though it gets increasingly less likely it ever will again.
This makes me angry. He's a die-hard D-Plan fan. How could his review not be stained by ruined expectations? Notice this: "...because their music MEANT so much..." You like an artist because their music MEANS so much to you, present tense. Crock obviously cares not for anything his beloved ex-D-Plan members try, so why have him review this album? Oh yeah, Pitchfork is based on solid support and the deranged obsession with Dismemberment Plan.
If we could listen to this record in a total vacuum, maybe we'd see All Y'all shows a lot of promising ideas with sometimes hoary execution, which is miles of improvement over the inadvisable Travistan.
As a critic, you should be able to listen to a record in a vacuum of some sort. Least of all, you should be able to measure a record fairly against past output, not just cling to past glories and frown upon any deviation from the assigned expected path you set in your head.
It's not that hard. If you don't like an album, you're allowed to talk about the past, but you can't use "in the good old days" rhetoric as the foundation of your criticism. Unless you're an old, old man, Crock. And I will assume that you are. You'll probably need these:
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