David Lee Roth once said, "Critics like Elvis Costello because most critics look like Elvis Costello." I don't go around quoting Diamond Dave often. Or at all really. But I do refer to this quote a lot. Because DLR nailed it. I love Elvis Costello. I think he's unique, one of the most brilliant songwriters of a generation. (Also, he was very appreciative when I held the door open for him at the Molly Pitcher rest stop on the N.J. Turnpike.) And I love vintage Van Halen, especially with David Lee Roth as the front man. Even at a young age, I understood the genius of Eddie Van Halen and something dangerous and sexy in DLR. Fast forward to today, and in my mind, and iPod, Elvis Costello and Van Halen are in no way mutually exclusive. I'd venture to guess most people have a wide array of music that crosses genres and eras (and maybe a few guilty pleasures thrown in, too.) But the point of Diamond Dave's quote was to zone in on why, especially during the late '70s and '80s, Elvis Costello, the scrawny, awkward-looking, scratchy-throated, oddly-dressed wunderkind of the alternative/new wave scene was getting all the love of establishment music critics while the iconic, larger-than-life, guitar-super-hero, rock 'n' roll colossus from LA couldn't get any respect. And DLR nailed it: the trumped up ego and power of a handful of writers (and in some cases, I use the term "writers" very loosely. To quote Aaron Sorkin's Sam Seaborn - which I do often - when a NASA lackee claimed they both were writers, "Yes, I suppose, if we broaden the definition to those who can spell.") These "writers" envisioned themselves to be more like the the anti-hero Costello and thus dismissive of the in-your-face, popular, low-brow arena rock gods.
Let's be blunt. Who the f&*k are these people and why do these people think their opinions matter?
At least, why should their opinions matter any more than mine or yours?
And why do so many people actually give a rat's ass about these opinions?
It's not just in the music industry. I don't particularly care for critics and their opinions in general. I'm more likely to listen to a CD or read a book or try a restaurant based on the experience or
recommendation of someone I actually know personally (and I'll still form my own opinion.)
And I'm just as independent-minded to listen to a song, see a movie, or choose a travel destination and discover how I feel about it all by my big-girl-self.
I find critics quite useless. Mostly because for every good critic, there are twenty hacks. And with the explosion of websites and blogs, everyone's a writer and everyone's a critic. I'm a believer that everyone is entitled to his/her opinion. I just don't think everyone's is worthy of being shared beyond the inside of one's skull. The internet has leveled the playing field and given even the lamest of writers a forum (can you say "Examiner" byline? That's almost as meaningless and pathetic as Maxim Editor-in-Chief!)
Yes, admittedly, there are some individuals who have taken their writing careers seriously and pursued an education in journalism and focused on the craft of writing. Even fewer who have dedicated themselves to the true study of the industry they plan to skewer with a keystroke. There will always be experts in a field, people who have the breadth and depth of knowledge on a particular genre or era or specialty niche that sets him/her apart from the majority of writers. But just like the endless parade of chattering pundits called in to offer their insights on political news programs, most of these bobbleheads' opinions are no better than the average listener calling in to trash talk the quarterback of their favorite team on local sports talk radio show.
The weaker among us care what critics have to say. And their reviews do linger over the lifetime of what they've reviewed.
A restaurant may not get a good review upon opening but so long as customers enjoy the food and the reservation book is full, the bistro can stay in business. Sure, there are "teflon" restaurants in every city that may not be the critics' favorite but the public still flocks to them.
A movie might get horrible reviews but ticketbuyers might love the film. Conversely, a motion picture might be critically acclaimed and award-nominated but the general movie-going public might not connect. Still, that movie will make its way to a DVD or BluRay format for home viewing, online viewing via NetFlix, premium cable airings, and eventually edited-for-TV versions over time.
A CD is sold in a store, downloaded online, listened to on internet radio for perpetuity and is never not available from the point of release onward.
A book is available in hardcover in the new releases section of a bookstore or for download on your Kindle or iPad. Six months to a year later, the paperback version is released.
A Broadway show, on occasion closes on opening night or within the first week, but its run lasts as long as theatregoers purchase tickets.
People will by music and literature and tickets to plays and fancy dinners no matter what a stranger who gets paid to give his/her opinion opines. And, let's not forget, they may be paid for their opinions, but (with the exception of food critics, usually) they're most certainly not paying for the copies of the music they judge or the novels they digest and often the concerts they attend. Impatient theatre critics can purchase preview passes prior to the official Opening Night (an industry no no, causing producers and publicists the type of aneurysms displayed during the chaotic process that sought to bring Spiderman:Turn Off The Dark to Broadway) but it's uncommon and lately, music journalists (that's still funny to type) have had their publications pony up the cash to cover concert tickets lately only as budgetary restraints stop the bleeding of comp tickets.
Speaking of concerts, what exactly is the point of a concert review?
Once upon a time, you listened to your local radio station and freaked out when the DJ announced your favorite band was coming to town. Maybe you'd hear the "John Scher Presents..." intro to the :30 second radio spot telling you when the tickets went on sale. You'd go to a TicketMaster outlet or phoneline or directly to the venue box office when tickets went on sale, often lining up hours and days in advance, donning your numbered, plastic wristband, just to purchase your concert tickets. You'd go home, tack them to your wall and longingly stare at your precious tickets, waiting for the night of the show (which was only a few weeks away).
Now? Forget it. Promoters have begun announcing tours anywhere from 6 to 12 months in advance, milking all the press and promotion surrounding the release of an artist's album and getting you to plop down an ungodly sum of money for tickets for a date far off in the not remotely near future. (I don't know what I'm doing this weekend; I can't possibly commit my calendar or my wallet to an all-day, tailgating affair at the stadium this August...)
Concert dates are announced.
Tickets go on sale.
Now, if you're a fan of the artist, you're going to buy tickets, no matter what.
If the show doesn't sell out, there will be tickets available until the night of show... but if the show is declared a sell-out, and you still want tickets, you are left paying dumbass prices to secondary-ticket market websites and brokers (read: scalpers -- dress it up any way you want, but it's still scalping, often with the blessing of the artists and promoters.)
So now you have a ticket. It's the night of the show. You attend. You rock your face off. Or calmly sit in your seat and enjoy your adult contemporary schlock. Whatever. Point is, you've paid for your ticket, you've been entertained and you go home. The band goes back to the hotel to party or heads off to the next city on their itinerary. The crew is busy tearing down the stage, packing it into trucks, and driving off to the next concert date to set it all up again in another town.
And then we have the concert reviewer who spent the show taking in the atmosphere, listening to the band's performance, carefully noting the set list, making sure the impending review is chock full of facts that accurately reflect the concert experienced by thousands and thousands of fans.
BAZINGA!
More often than not, you have a "writer" (again, unlikely Sam Seaborn would apply that title) who has arrived at the arena or stadium or amphitheater or club with a preconceived notion, an angle, an agenda, an allegiance or a grudge. Post-show (IF they even stay through the end. Face it, these days, all you need to do is find a website and/or Twitter feed fed by diehard fans and you can lift the song list and details of what you missed right off the web and if you want to make the print deadline for tomorrow's issue, you'll cut corners) these writers return home and sit at the keyboard ready to spew their deep insights.
The review ends up on the newspaper's website and in the paper within 24 to 36 hours of the show... um, why? It's as useless a piece of writing as a parenting bible by Dina and Michael Lohan. Think about it. Who is reading this article?
If you aren't a fan of the artist, you didn't waste your money on the concert ticket. If you weren't interested enough to attend the show, why would you waste your time reading a review?
If you were a fan, you went through the entire experience outlined above - you bought a ticket, you went to the show, you enjoyed yourself, and life goes on. You might read the review, agree or disagree, but in the end, it's not this review that will determine if you buy a ticket to the next tour. Your purchase will be based entirely on the concert you saw, the artist's performance. and how much fucking fun you had. The idea that someone who didn't go reads the review and declares, "DAMN. I must go seem them next time they're in town!" is a lovely thought but that may be two years from now. You can't guarantee in two years that will translate to two more tickets sold. So, whatever the reviewer writes? Useless waste of words and column space/bandwidth. There's literally no point to a post-concert concert review.
(And that's just here in the U.S. U.K. "music journalists" make American writers seem like Faulkner, Steinbeck, Shakespeare, and Kurt Loder all rolled into one.)
More often than not, the writers just aren't very good.
Go on... Cobble together whatever career you can these days but if your fan base is people stuck in the past and your claim to fame is recounting stories from your former life amongst rock 'n' roll royalty, your sadsack, woe-is-me, the-world-owes-me attitude will grow old. Fast. And your hippy-trippy, love-the-world facade will barely veil your misery. That's why things happened. No other reason.
Gee, I'm really sorry you were given the assignment to cover an artist of which you are not a fan. Grow up. In the real world, lots of people have to do parts of their jobs they don't like so suck it up and pretend to be professional.
You shouldn't have built your entire career based upon your unprecedented access and fawning devotion to one artist and wielded that access like a weapon.
You should totally whore yourself out on every morning talk show, every music special, every "best-of" program, and offer your uniquely glib, smarmy, dumbass opinion on all things musical (Hey, why not deem yourself an "expert" on all things pop-culture while you're at it?) Maybe the network will make you a judge on some sort of competition show.
I'm so tired of seeing "Rolling Stone Contributing Editor" titles next to bylines... Face it: Rolling Stone on your resume doesn't mean much these days. It's as if you get a free pass for your entire post-RS career.
Go on. Write a memoir, even two, so chock-full of errors and misrepresentations of my entire teen years that my only copy has been marked up with a red grease marker denoting every mistake and passage that pissed me the hell off.
No, really. Pad your resume with an endless stream of credits for writing painfully unfunny awards show scripts. All those awkward pairings of celebrities introducing nominees? All that moronic banter? All that uncomfortable silence? That's your work. I can spot it a mile away. (By all means, yes! Definitely set up a twitter account so we can follow your every banal thought, though they're just as unfunny, uninteresting, and unbelievably douchy as anything else you've stamped your name on.)
And absolutely, you should completely use your status as cultural icon and magazine publisher to rig the system and force your musical agenda on the masses. Use that same agenda to handpick the artists you and your co-horts will grant passage to at the next Rock 'n' Roll Hall Of Fame induction. Make yourself a gatekeeper and you'll keep out the riff-raff.
It's this "establishment" that is so much a part of perpetuating this status quo of idiocy. Because that's what the general public is to "knowledgeable" music writers: idiots. I find that most people who claim Captain Beefcake is among their favorite artists are insufferable douchebags. I'm sure there are some true fans but more often than not, it's an indication that they're trying too damn hard to be too damn cool. And trying that hard just isn't cool.
But do you actually like and see yourself in Barry and Dick?
Then you most likely, too, are a dick. Because in real life, those musical elitists are, in fact, dicks.
You can't force your likes on other people and pass judgment upon them as people due to their "lesser" musical preferences.
All art is subjective.
There is no accounting for taste. It's a deeply personal preference, often involuntary.
No one should be subjected to derision and ridicule by those whose sole hold on self-confidence and personal identity is their encyclopaedic knowledge of obscure music. (And as much fun as it is to mock whatever brainless, junk food pop music is hot at the moment - Bieber? Ke$ha? LMFAO? - there really is room for everyone and a time and place for all types of music.) Most of these paid "music journalists" are just over-ego'd musical bullies. I question their social skills because if their writing is so off-putting, I can't imagine their personalities in real life are much more likable. (I also question their hygiene.)
I'll be honest.
I stopped seeking out new music as a sport. I'm a more passive music consumer these days. (My fetish has transferred to the written word.) Maybe it's having worked in the industry for so long and seeing inside the belly of the beast but now, I like what I like. I discover it when I discover it. I don't care if I find it a year after insiders start raving about a new band. I don't keep a scorecard.
You couldn't pay me to listen to an entire Pink Floyd album.
But I was devastated that illness kept me from front row tickets to Def Leppard this summer.
John Hiatt and Patty Griffin might be my favorite songwriters.
But the last concerts I attended included Darius Rucker and Luke Bryan.
I can't stand Neil Young. I appreciate his work, but I don't enjoy it.
I'm not not a fan but I don't understand the godlike status U2 enjoys.
And Pearl Jam seem boring and humorless now that I'm in my early 40s.
They don't speak to me anymore. But they speak to millions. To each his own.
There will always be under-appreciated, critically acclaimed, brilliant artists who will never have the financial success or massive audience they deserve. And there will always be rock bands beloved by their diehard fanbase who sell out stadiums and arenas around the globe much to the frustration of the music "intelligensia." One doesn't cancel out the value of the other, certainly not to the individual who finds a personal connection with the music of the unsung hero or the iconic superstar. And if you need to feel better about yourself because you're a fan of a band no one else knows (or, you stop being a fan of a band once they "sell out" and become too popular) or if you get off on being a fan of whatever band is deemed the critics' have deemed the supreme golden child, then you have your own personal identity too wrapped up in elements outside of yourself.
Don't be that self-righteous fan. (The Yankees fan of music.) And don't be a sheep.
Like what you like and screw what anyone thinks.
Now, let me be clear. There are some very, very good writers, real music lovers, who try desperately to convey how the music moves them, how they feel when they hear the words, embrace the melody, experience the communal energy at a show. They take their craft seriously, don't have malicious intent, and are genuine fans of all kinds of musicians, all kinds of music, and all kinds of people. If you find one of these writers, read his/her work. You might not agree with everything written but they represent a rare breed indeed.
But in the end, no matter how good or passionate a writer, he or she simply cannot do the subject justice. I entitled and am ending this piece with an oft-repeated, fantastic quote (which I first read in the script for a mediocre film, Playing By Heart) --
"Talking about love is like dancing about architecture. It can't be done." **
That's how I feel. Writing about music -- it's like dancing about architecture. Language can barely convey the elusive, ethereal experience. Words can't adequately explain how it affects, moves, infiltrates, sustains, emboldens, embraces, inspires, and connects us. And anyone who tries is destined to fail.
But if it is your calling, you want to be William Miller (CC.) Not Lester Bangs.
Now seriously.
Who can get me into Van Halen at Cafe Wha? tomorrow night?
[** The credit for this quote and the work that has gone into tracing its origin is frightening. Go on, Google it. But I'll bet Martin Mull was not the name you expected.]
1 comment:
I WANT IN TOO! :)
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