Not so long ago beat box extraordinaire Rahzel posed a provocative question to America's candy bar munching yutes': "What's it like to crunch into a twix?"
I pondered this point of crispy contention earlier today as I noshed on the bar and couldn't help but recall this ad. As I did, I got to thinking. Amidst the creamy/chewy and crunchy/cookie dichotomies Rahzel sets up, he manages to do something interesting in the fifteen second framework of this particular commercial; he crammed a true window of life experience into a small time frame and I hope to do the same today.
We might all know what life is like for a Twix consumer, but one might find himself less knowledgeable about the inner workings of the music critic, a topic I should know a thing or three about. CD or music reviews of whatever kind are things that we, as a culture, more or less, take for granted. I'd be a wealthy man by now if the reality were otherwise. For however little attention we typically pay these articles of semi-artistic expression, they definitely serve a purpose.
How often did you buy CD's back in the day (remember CD's?) only to realize shortly after that the lead singles were the only tracks on them worth paying for (remember paying for CD's?)? I would have saved myself a few months' worth of allowance had I hit up a review site or even opened a magazine at Barnes and Nobel before purchasing that Lit or Bare Naked Ladies album way back when. Music criticism can be quite the convenience and with great convenience comes great reward ... maybe.
Why did I ever think this would be a worthwhile purchase ...
We generally aren't paid and we don't usually get the fuzzy pats on the back we occasionally deserve, so what's in it for us? Well, isn't it obvious? We think we're kind of important! If we say album 'x' by band 'y' is mad dope and turn at least one person on to that group/record it's like we're spreading a gospel of sorts (in our minds at least). I said, in my last post, that I don't think I am "that important," and this is generally true, but put an album in my hands and a blank microsoft word document on my screen and all bets are off. This is my world now.
Unfortunately, academic wise asses and some members of the general public, as implied earlier, have a little difficulty seeing things this way. Anonymous was once quoted as saying, "a critic is a legless man who teaches running."[1] Who does Anony' think he is (I sure don't know); I may not be the lightest on my feet, but I can definitely run a lap or two without wheezing like a puff ball. Maybe that's a little beside the point; the point is that we got a pretty raw deal here.
Posting one's rigorously written musings on an album in any public forum is almost unintentionally far more courageous than the average music snob realizes. While we may view our meditations as grand services to a yearning public that idea doesn't quite convey the nature of what we do. Here's an image I find a little more compelling:
Imagine standing on a bustling street corner in a suit made entirely of aged beef; all the while, you are holding a blinking sign that says, "Arcade Fire Blows," in front of a mob of hungry hipster hounds. You'll be lucky if they're full, but, more often than not, they'll be happy to take a chunk out of you. If you rate an album favorably, you'll be buying into the hype. If you get all critical on their asses, suddenly your assault on the band becomes an an assault on your reader. I have this problem all the time with my girlfriend and her dogs; just because I despise her sniveling mutts, doesn't mean I think less of her (not much).
You won't think they're "sewwww cute" when they're ironically gnawing your leg off!
Frequently music criticism is a lose/lose business. Every now and then we get a rare tummy rub of appreciation as one of my long forgotten college paper reviews received on the band Hurt's forum, not so long ago, but such accolades are few and far between. The true music critic is a glutton punishment; the kind of person with the cojones to dish a "yo mama" joke with his face held to the dirt. Maybe we do lack some practical judgment and, perhaps, even those legs Mr. "I'm too cool to disclose my name" made such a stink about, but one thing we do have is a sound knowledge of the English language .*
*You are a terrible reviewist [word choice]. you are ****ing retarted [sp.] to say aaron gillespie brought the band down, [comma splice] and i dont know that anyone that [improper relative pronoun] actually enjoyed underoaths [apostrophe omission] music would ever agree with you.
-A real Underoath Fan
WAY harsh....this is a sick album... [reconsider punctuation] fun songs with good messages that isnt [plural] going to hurt anyone.. [incomplete ellipse] obviously you missed the whole point about [improper preposition] the album.
-daniel
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