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Ripping Music Critics Since 2009

Alan Ranta’s Review of “Yeah Ghost” by Zero 7

Mar 10

Posted by Matt Wendus in Popmatters | 1 Comment

Artist: Zero 7

Album: Yeah Ghost

Reviewer: Alan Ranta

PopMatters, 2009












Stuffy Phrase: “subtly introspective lyricism”

Stuffier Phrase: “space-case organic breakbeat instrumental”

Stuffiest Phrase: “indecipherably warped vocals and a few swirling, grainy digital manifestations”




You know Alan, just the other day I got an email from a reader asking me to dig into reviews by the A.V. Club. Before that, a critic I’d blasted complained that I don’t pick on the big guys like Spin and Rolling Stone. Well, there’s a very simple reason for that avoidance. They feature very short reviews, often only a paragraph in length. With the exception of Raoul Hernandez’s stuff, there’s a natural law at work here: a 1,000-word review has more stuff to pick apart than one a small fraction of that length. There is a limit to my patience, though. Over 1,200 words and I get bored fast. Sorry, Eric.

You pushed the limit with a tubby 1,100 words here, Alan, but there was so much dung in the stall that it held my focus long enough. Aside from your clearly orchestrated Wikipedia entry, you sold me on your first sentence:

“For some reason, trip-hop and lyrical chill music is typically grounded by prominent female vocals.”

Alan, I’m going to use this as a teachable moment. Why is it that so many music critics can’t help but write “female vocals” to describe notes coming out of a woman’s mouth? Have you ever heard a woman say she’s going to Marshalls for a sale on female clothes? How about someone in a bar asking where the female bathroom is? Can’t say I’ve ever attended a rally for female rights or gawked at an issue of “Female’s World” in the checkout line. In a woman’s world, why do certain white men in their 20s describe one of the sexiest, most expressive acts a woman can do like they’d identify a bull shark’s gender? On top of that, what’s with the paragraph devoted to talking about women like Arnold talks about men?

“overly girly “yoo-hoo” and “yeah, yeah” overdubs”

“Ann-Margret would struggle to be this over-the-top girly”

While you’re sorting out your feelings on the fairer sex, I’m going to just dive into something else that ruffled my feathers here:

“the backward-sounding guitar—a sound that is a lot more disjointed here than the similarly distorted six-string on the righteous “This Fine Social Scene” from The Garden—but it is not enough to save the song.”

Save it from what exactly, Alan? If anyone’s wondering why I get so incensed when critics use the third person to rape someone’s music, this is another teachable moment. Far as I can tell, the only thing this song wasn’t saved from was your own picky eating. No matter how thick you bloat your review, how many tangential references you make for gravity, or how many artists you mention in obtuse parallels, a music review isn’t a relay of facts. It’s subjective. Whether you gently fondle the art you chained to a rock or violate it with a “few obvious boners,” whatever you choose to write about someone’s heart and soul is your opinion. Dressing your opinion as fact by obscuring your own responsibility makes absolutes even stinkier, Alan. And boy, do you roll out the absolutes in this review:

“The only Eska submission that brings anything worthwhile to the table”

“The only interesting part of the track”

“the only track on Yeah Ghost that has the same kind of gravity”

“the only track that hints at the kind of sweeping cinematic soundscapes”

Oh, and about those obtuse parallels –

“Henry Binns doing his best Peter Gabriel come Huey Lewis impression”

“That number would sound exactly like a Badly Drawn Boy producing a Cat Power song”

“starting off like an unreleased b-side to the Bangles’ “Walk Like an Egyptian” and ending up like a Nelly Furtado cover of “Closer” (Nine Inch Nails).”

Alan, what the hell is the point of describing tracks like that? Explaining a song to a curious reader by saying it sounds like another artist doing an impression of another artist with a touch of another artist isn’t the best way to enhance understanding or pique interest. It just burns space, which brings me to another question: if the third person version of you thought this album was mediocre at best, why did you write a 3-page lab report on it?

There’s more to pry into here Alan, but before the hypocrite police cuff me for writing an 800-word review of a review I didn’t like, I’m going to end on something lighter. It’s still morning on the east coast, after all. Just a bit of a little redundancy:

“That is a captivating, soulful lullaby of a tune”

Thanks for that, Alan. I thought for a minute you meant it was a soulful lullaby of a basketball game or broom closet. Thanks, Metacritic, for introducing me to Alan. I have a feeling we’re going to get along just fine.

Matt’s Picks, March 10

Mar 10

Posted by Matt Wendus in Uncategorized | No Comments

     

Jonathan Keefe’s Review of “Easton Corbin” by Easton Corbin

Mar 8

Posted by Matt Wendus in Slant | 1 Comment

Artist: Easton Corbin

Album: Easton Corbin

Reviewer: Jonathan Keefe

Slant, 2010












Most Emo Phrase: “those nicer moments are still too isolated to make for a satisfying debut”

Cleft rectum: “stale ’80s arena rock and early-’90s adult contemporary drivel”




Jonathan, I’m going to call you John. If it’s Jon, my apologies, but I feel weird addressing you as Jonathan repeatedly. I tried, but kept thinking we were locked in loving embrace on a spring morn before the Crimean. Don’t worry…I’ll still wait for you Devonshire, Jonathan.

This is your first time in the chair, John, so I’ll walk you through my motions. First I’m going to show you a bloated sentence here on the monitor and highlight what I think is wrong with it. Feel free to guess at any time:

“Corbin sings well enough (though, again, in drawing such uncanny parallels to another, infinitely more famous vocalist, he doesn’t do himself any favors or announce the arrival of a distinctive new voice), but lacks the maturity and depth of experience to elevate some of the record’s middling material.”

John, why? Why the bulgy parenthetical thorax? It’s not like you had no choice but to cram a huge explanation in the midsection of your sentence. You could have just as easily dropped the word “though” and stuck the whole choad right after the period without the smile lines. It’s clear you didn’t have readability at the fore of your mind, so something else must be afoot. You know what I think happened here? I think you were so uncomfortable writing straightforward praise that you needed an immediate way of speaking to the contrary. Well, thanks for the intermission between “enough” and “but.” I pinched a nice deuce.

I like wearing the shoes, but I’m not just a formatting nanny, John. I’d have beef with your claims even if they were clear.  Let’s move to that bit about Corbin not doing himself ANY favors drawing parallels to George Strait:

“in drawing such uncanny parallels to another, infinitely more famous vocalist, he doesn’t do himself any favors”

Somehow I don’t envision most country music fans being as nitpicky about a dude singing country in a country tenor. Sure, there may be some who’d stick up a Strawberries just to burn Corbin’s albums in an oil drum. But it seems far more likely that folks who like George Strait might be like, “hm, this guy sounds like George Strait. That’s something I would listen to.” Let’s just throw an “m” on your “any favors” and we’ll be straight, capisce?

Well, we know that you have a passion for hyperbole, John. Let’s check to see if there’s any unintended irony scattered about the place:

“a slightly more purposeful variation on an interminable series of rote lists of rural-ish points of reference that Nashville’s unambitious go-to songwriters have been attempting to pass off as songs for the past few years”

John, I’m going to suppress my laughter after reading that mess and try to focus on one point here. Travel back to self-awareness 101 for a minute. Am I dreaming or did you actually write the phrase “interminable series” and follow it with a Dennis Miller rant about “rural-ish points of reference?” Maybe the geniuses behind bit.ly will eventually write some code that condenses obese prose, but until then you might consider keeping it on manual control for a while.*

I’m thankful the Slant editors aren’t as free-love about word count as some zines, but you still managed to pack those 400 words to the brim with anaerobic stink:

“it’s only the four tracks on which Corbin shares a co-writing credit that show any real personality or point of view, with “That’ll Make You Wanna Drink” and “Leavin’ a Lonely Town” demonstrating a promising awareness of genre conventions and a real sense of wit.”

John, I’m always amused when music critics bookend vernacular song titles with stuff that could sterilize a toilet bowl. You know, like:

“Pistash-Yo’s new single “Thumb my Bitch’s Booty” demonstrates a promising awareness of genre conventions and a real sense of wit.”

Priceless, dude. Do you actually listen to music or do you just use it as your brain’s ashtray? Read some of this butt pucker you rattled off:

“there’s precious little here of interest”

“too isolated to make for a satisfying debut”

“stale tropical island shtick”

Speaking of stale, John, you’re reviewing an album featuring a guy kicked back on the porch with a guitar and a cute dog on the cover. Even if you couldn’t bring yourself to relax and enjoy it without Xanax, you might have considered speaking the guy’s language to snip his sack. All right, visit’s over. Here’s your floss.

*For those of you who thought of the trip to Degobah, cheers

Paul Clarke’s Review of “Let This be the Last Night I Care” by Alcoholic Faith Mission

Mar 7

Posted by Matt Wendus in Drowned in Sound | No Comments

Artist: Alcoholic Faith Mission

Album: Let this be the Last Night I Care

Reviewer: Paul Clarke

Drowned in Sound, 2010











Longest Sentence: 82 words

Matronly: “occasionally mixing too much together and not knowing when to curb their excesses”




Paul, you really should move to 12th century Iceland and be a chronicler. I don’t think your compulsion to write brain-breaking sentences is suited for the digital world. But hey, you be the judge. Take your opening sentence, for example:

“Some records have a sense that the immediate physical surroundings in which they were recorded have shaped the sound itself; that the ramshackle hut to which Bon Iver retreated for For Emma, Forever Ago was almost as responsible for that album’s air of rustic fragility as Justin Vernon’s confessional lyrics say, or that the hushed atmosphere of Cowboy Junkies’ The Trinity Session wouldn’t have felt quite so devotional if it hadn’t been recorded in The Church Of The Holy Trinity in Toronto.”

Paul, imagine for a minute that you’re someone who reads for fun, not to compete against Finland for the gold. Now I want you to look at that quoted bit above and answer the following question: does that look like a sentence or a paragraph? Draping window dressing on writing is all well and good, Paul, but you can’t see much if the window’s covered. Believe it or not, your criminally tedious opening sentence wasn’t even the best part. Read what comes next:

“This was literally true in the case of Alcoholic Faith Mission’s last album”

WHAT was literally true, Paul? The Bon Iver bit about the cabin, the stuff about the Toronto church, or the point of your sentence I forgot because it’s 60 words back up the path? I ain’t climbin’ back up that scree, Paul. I need the energy for the long trek ahead.

I can’t imagine how anyone besides me would have made it much further, but you don’t make things any easier down the road:

“And in some senses, the tiny bedroom in Copenhagen where they made 2006’s debut Misery Loves Company also left an indelible mark; if only because the fact Jensen and Solund recorded it entirely by candlelight seemed reflected in a sound which felt like squinting through the gloom at the shadows of other bands such as Smog, Tunng and Iron and Wine.”

First things first. “In some senses?” I can’t say that I’ve ever come across that construction, Paul. You know why? Because if you use the plural of “sense,” it sounds like you’re referring to smell, taste, touch – that kind of stuff. So instead of hearing “in many respects” in my brain, I’m hearing you say this band made an indelible mark on someone’s tongue or nose by recording in candlelight. Second off, could you have maybe condensed “the fact Jensen and Solund recorded it entirely by candlelight” into a smaller noun? The poor verb “seemed” is tugging a fat load there, Paul. He’s sturdy, but he ain’t your workhorse, you animal.

Paul, I’m already tired of posting entire sentences written by you because it’s eating my word count like Reese’s Pieces. Let’s throw a jargon party instead. You text your friends while I put up a list of the stuffiest, silliest bits I could find in your glacial review. Then maybe you can explain why you can’t write about music like someone who enjoys it in the least.

“many of the Bukowskiesque themes”

“a copy of Arcade Fire’s Neon Bible rather than a neon crucifix”

“fuzz-frazzled guitars and buoyant whoops”

“lyrics remain resolutely grounded in the everyday”

“ongoing predilection for the odd tipple”

“expansion in personnel has been matched by an encompassing expansion in scope”

That last one’s my favorite, Paul. If you’ve never tried explaining power-points in front of a workforce on the verge of sleep, you might consider it. World always needs more cold descriptions of core competencies. Cheers, Paul.

Letter to Eric Harvey 2

Mar 7

Posted by Matt Wendus in Letters to Critics | 7 Comments

To this guy:




Eric, I’m impressed you’ve stood your ground on my challenge. Good. That’s the first step. Now, I’m going to get this rolling with a little recap. To you I paid battle’s invitation by knife fight in the written world: cold, pointed words against a foe.

As you strode into the ring, losing your jacket and rolling up your sleeves, you produced from a sheath concealed behind your neck…the 1900-word essay.

This is Mortal Kombat, dude, not fey games of tag after a good reading of Byron. You could have DUG into me, Eric. I even glimpsed fleeting merit scrolling down the small book you wrote for me at 3 in the morning. Then I thought to myself, “Wow, why read this when porn’s a click away?” I started skimming. Jesus man, we’re not two old chums from the academy locked in a cursive game of Risk. We hardly know each other. Did you actually expect me to methodically read through your five-page English paper or were you just producing a manuscript for posterity?

If someone scrubs his boot into your persuasion, this is what you do? You attack him with the stuff he’s already ridiculed you about not two months ago? You bore him into basalt before the next foot-noted strike? I don’t recall Dutch ever taking that approach. Dutch would have his skull bouncing in the predator’s crotch-mounted trophy case pulling that kind of shit.

Now, Eric, I’m giving you another shot. If you’re not going to meet my knife with a blade, then I’m disappointed in you. You see, I don’t have a problem with SOMETHING you wrote. I got a problem with what you write. And my respect for you is going to be kissing the cow pie if you can’t come up with something better to stall my engine.

Here’s something to mull your cider, Eric:

Remember that line I wrote in my letter to you? You know; the one about the children of Ungoliant so eager to lap up your cold curds? Ungoliant was a hideous thing in Tolkien’s lore. In fact, her heart was so twisted by her ceaseless hunger that she bit and drained light from the world. I don’t respect what you do to music and its makers. I think it poison. That’s my conviction. And I will take my phial given by the lady, and I will jam it in your eyes until you stay your plague on music.

I’m not finished. Before you go deliberate your options, you’re going to park yourself and watch this. You’re going to watch and imagine I stole the fish you caught to feed your family in the skeezy part of Italy.

You gonna put up a fight for that fish or you gonna granny shot another book at me?

*No, you’re not Ungoliant. You a kid.

Matt’s Picks, March 7

Mar 7

Posted by Matt Wendus in Uncategorized | 1 Comment

     

Larry Fitzmaurice’s Review of “Jet Lag” by Josiah Wolf

Mar 6

Posted by Matt Wendus in Pitchfork | 1 Comment

Artist: Josiah Wolf

Album: Jet Lag

Reviewer: Larry Fitzmaurice

Pitchfork, 2010












Critic Talk: “bizarre pop mutations,” “its more straightforward cousin,” “absurdist yarns that hold a weird car-crash fascination”




I want to take things slow here, Larry. Usually I’m all gung-ho about reaming someone’s review without any foreplay, but I want shift down to second for a tick. Let’s set the mood. You know, dim the lights, put on our lacy thongs, and maybe see what kind of an album you’re dumping on here:

“The songs on the debut full-length from WHY? drummer Josiah Wolf were inspired by the dissolution of an 11-year relationship, as well as Wolf’s move back to the Midwest after years of living in California.”

And what better way to cheer the guy up than to give his debut album an F? I guess he had it coming though:

“Dropping a breakup album for your first LP seems a risky move. Listeners are just starting to get to know you, after all.”

Larry, here’s something to kick around your cortex. Do you think it’s a risky move because A), listeners are alienated by debut breakup albums, or B), that a music critic might have the gall to say an artist doesn’t provide the right soundtrack to his own emotional turmoil? I’m casting my lot in column B, but let’s see if we can work out your answer from the review:

“If Wolf could be accused of lyrical overcompensation, the opposite could be said about the music.”

“offbeat musings on praying naked in the shower…sound forced”

“Wearing your heart on your sleeve is one thing, but musically, Josiah Wolf isn’t really taking any risks here”

So…this guy made a risky move by not really taking any risks? I don’t follow. Also, how is it offbeat to mention being naked in the shower and praying on a record dominated by breakup stories? That don’t seem forced to me. You sure you weren’t just reaching for something to bust this guy’s chops on? Would you have gushed over this release if Wolf had skipped on the “attempts at surrealism” and just stuck to “the grief-stricken script?” I’m not convinced.

You know what?  Put your pants back on, Larry. I’m done with cuddling. Why don’t you just grab a shovel so we can start pitching the manure? Your second paragraph is a mess:

“Meanwhile, “Unused ‘I love you’s build up” in his throat in the somewhat cornily named “The Apart Meant”, after expressing the lonely sentiment that “For 11 years/ We didn’t touch another/ And now I can’t sleep,” in “Skull in the Ice”.”

Jesus Christ man, you can PARAPHRASE what the guy’s saying. He might be more miffed that you rated his debut album a 5.6 than if you sum up what he’s singing without direct quotes. Consider for a moment what you’ve done here. You’ve distinguished both song names and song lyrics by fencing them off with quotation marks. Not only that, you’ve written a sentence where the quoted bits outnumber the words holding the sentence together. That’s not such a great recipe for comprehension cookies. And what’s with the pussy-footing adverbs? “Somewhat cornily?” Just be a man and say you’d name another man’s breakup song something else.

Did I mention pussy-footing? Here’s a nice pair of labia loafers:

“sort of competent but dull chamber-pop”

“half-decent ideas haphazardly grouped together”

Larry, where I come from, the phrase “sort of” is a mark of shame. It says a man is too lazy to come up with a better word in an argument. If you can type a 500+ word review, you can consult a thesaurus. Also, I believe “half-decent” would be 25% on the scale from horrible to excellent. Just say “bad.” In the meantime, careful you don’t slip on them clam waders.

Like many other critics, you waited until the last paragraph before mentioning anything you enjoyed about the album you just molested in the parking lot. Actually, I don’t even really know for sure if there was any enjoyment on your end. All you did was provide a wordy description of a couple songs without words like “haphazardly” or “jammed-together”

“Opener “The Trailer and the Truck” stretches and yawns via elongated guitar bends and bursts of concentrated drumming, while “Is the Body Hung” rolls with freak-folk touches and Wolf’s cracked vocals.”

Here’s a bit of advice, Larry. If you’re going to kick a musician in the crotch, you might consider giving him the shiny penny before the boot in the pecker. Bit of etiquette, you might say.

Now put on that thong.