Album: Nonstop

Reviewer: John Calvert

The Quietus, 2010

Writing Disorders: Jargon Palsy, Idea Fever








Stuffiest Phrase: “bears little of the abstract parenthesis and structural inventiveness exhumed”

WTF: “curiouser and curiouser until the Vagina Dentata”




Before I get to John Calvert’s review, let’s start with a selection from the comment board. It’s a John Doran featurette — three…maybe four…back to back…John Doran comments:





I’ve had words with the editor of The Quietus in my own day, so I’m not surprised to see him go apeshit on his own ridiculous site. I got John’s saucy tongue up my inbox when I made fun of his Jaga Jazzist review, but apparently it takes far less to set him off on a comment board. Man’s got a chigger up a chapped ass.

I wouldn’t want him in charge of my zine for the mentally obese, but John did get me thinking about one thing. What made readers light his butt fuse so close to the knot with this review?

Turns out there’s plenty of justification. I didn’t even know where to start laughing. It took a few rereads, but far as I can tell, the review serves two purposes. One is to complain there’s not enough Pixies in Frank Black’s 19th solo album since leaving the band. The other’s to give John Calvert a playoff berth in Metaphor Fest 2010.

“It’s like scratching with the fingers of an amputated limb”

“the cleft-lipped Svn Fingers was hacked up like a toxic fur-ball”

“the songs are pretty girls with bad breath”

Honestly, John, did you have this mountain of self-gratification mapped out before you even heard the album? Call me crazy, but I reckon an article built on clever abstractions of sounds is more “vaguely insipid” than the actual sounds. One reason I’m trying to suffocate your style of chunky brown writing is it’s by far the worst way to explain a musical release. At least you can rest assured most of the Quietus is just as bad. I only found your turd through a tip. Thanks, Chloe.

Oh, then there’s the Pixies nostalgia:

“This melodiously bullet-proof songcraft plain begs to be disfigured into inverted forms, Pixies-style.”

“They’re so missed as animators to Franks’ songs”

“It could be described as Pixies without the punk – sorry, Frank, but it’d be remiss not to compare and contrast”

So listen to a goddamn Pixies album, dude. There are five out there to choose from, but before you go thumbing the LPs, lend me an ear. This is a teachable moment, John. To me it’s a limp gripe hounding a musician for not re-recording stuff his band made famous 20 years ago. Since half a trillion bands have woven Pixies into their DNA, maybe the lead singer wants to make something different. If he didn’t yelp enough over a plunking bass line for your taste, I think it says more about you than it does about him, and half this review was a transcript of you moaning about that rod up your butt. When you finally stop for breath, you drop a quick gripe or two about Black not being punk enough:

“without a manifesto of punk-experimental malintent in hand, is nothing short of a torturous tease.”

John, the man’s 45 years old. I’m not nearly that old yet, but I can’t say I’d be clamoring to swing my gut around like 1989 if I was. As Mr. Strummer once said, “you grow up and you calm down.” If the guy wants to play country rock, that’s his business. It’s probably better for his LDL count anyway.

John…and John, you might consider rereading the comments under this review. The day a music zine can’t take criticism is a day that’s good for me, not you. Keep it in mind.

Album: Adventures in Modern Recording

Reviewer: Joe Stannard

The Quietus, 2010

Writing Disorders: Purple Hemorrhage, Idea Fever, Detachment Syndrome








Longest Sentence: 63 words

Stuffiest Phrase: “Roxy-esque themes of artifice and ennui”




Joe, most of what I read on The Quietus makes me want to watch old pro wrestling highlights just to counteract the website’s flowery poot sniffing. You really took it to another level here. I’m not even through the third paragraph and I’m already worried that YouTube clips of Ravishing Rick Rude won’t be enough to slow the poison. Look at your opening sentence:

“Never mind the rouged fops of 80s British pop, flouncing about like epileptic candyfloss stuffed into grotesque couture – let’s talk about the innovators, the auteurs, the dreamweavers.”

Okay…I wasn’t really going to mind that stuff in the first place, but whatever. I’ll roll. What’s next?

“I’m referring of course to the producers. Mike Hedges, Martin Hannett, Hugh Padgham, Steve Lillywhite and Martin Rushent can all claim to have played a part in shaping the sonic landscape of the 80s. But it was Durham-born hitmaker Trevor Horn who bestrode the decade like a myopic colossus, crafting pocket symphonies for Marc Almond, Grace Jones, Dollar, Frankie Goes To Hollywood, Propaganda, Pet Shop Boys…”

Ugh. Look, I’m sure you eventually connect all this to the Buggles’ second album in some breathtaking way, but before I wade into that, let’s just see how long it took. Do you know how long it took you to mention the name of that album? Any guesses? 458 words.

Joe, that’s a lot of words, so I’m thinking maybe I made a mistake. Before I make an ass of myself ridiculing you for that level of excess, I’m going to take a quick look back at the heading so I can be sure this wasn’t titled “Densely-Packed Parade of Names from the 1980s.”

Phew, thought so. Joe, I realize The Quietus strives to deliver the longest, most viscous introductions in a field of writing ted by them, but this is absurd. From the opening word to your first mention of Adventures in Modern Recording, you name 38 different people, bands, songs, and albums. Regardless of whether they’re related, dropping that many ideas in the road doesn’t make for the smoothest ride down history’s boulevard. It’s like naming 38 species of rodent in an article about a chipmunk before mentioning the chipmunk. I’m surprised you still had room for conjunctions and prepositions in there. By the way — capitalizing genres of music in a thicket of proper nouns doesn’t really smooth things out either. How do I know “Disco” isn’t an obscure British band that benefitted from the craft of a “myopic colossus?”

When you finally get down to talking about Adventures in Modern Recording, you don’t spare much vague prose:

“The opening title song, for example, loads synthetic and acoustic instrumentation upon a skullcracking rhythm, creating a mood which is simultaneously dreamlike and hyper-alert.”

Joe, one reason I find these labored descriptions of a band’s songs so stupid is that I fail to see the purpose. It’s one thing to describe a chase scene in The Transporter, detail a conversation between protagonists in a novel, or even outline the landscape in a Monet painting in writing. It’s quite another thing to write descriptions of music like this and expect a curious reader to build a replica in his head:

“the sinister faux jazz interlude”

“rigid, gridlike beats”

“a vast, crashing wave of melodic noise crying out for a Lindstrom-style expansion”

Those things mean next to nothing, Joe, and they mean even less buried in the cores of gigantic paragraphs. If you’re going to write a persuasive essay on music, don’t you think it makes sense to include some MUSIC in there somewhere? You know, maybe throw in a hyperlink or embedded clip for those brave souls who actually stick around to read your slush past the introduction? This is the internet, after all. You can do that stuff, Joe.

When I finally reached your conclusion, I was expecting a prize of some sort or at the very least a warm meal and a beer for my perseverance. Instead, there’s this:

“We’ve established that Adventures is ahead of its time”

What exactly did I do to establish that, Joe? Oh, you meant you and another Quietus historian collaborated on this criminally tedious review and came to that conclusion? Where’s the shared credit?  Are you trying to steal the fame and fortune offered for deciphering the perceived influence of a 29-year-old album on a Swedish electronica band? You cold-blooded …

Joe, my brain is already in danger of fusing into a cube after reading this piece of plastic, so I’m just going to take the antidote and be done. I think I can cut out the rant about the phrase “pop sensibility.” I’ll let you ponder that one. Beam me up, Rick.

Album: Kairos

Reviewer: Laura Snapes

The Quietus, 2010

Writing Disorders: Jargon Palsy, Purple Hemorrhage








Longest Sentence: 62 words

Dollar Words: Aubades, lucubrations, melismatic, diaphanous, hypnagogic

Wha Happen?: “a qualitative state of time suspended rather than a chronological march, one that exists in an ether”




Laura, were you born without a limbic system? If you’re physically capable of enjoying music, it doesn’t show. Well, that’s not true. You did suggest a margin of enjoyment at the very end of your review:

“it’s a pleasure to hear her rejoicing in the freedom of her vocal reincarnation”

Wow, that sounds like a wild dopamine rush. Did you even upturn the corners of your mouth in approval? Sigh, such a free spirit. I’m biased here, Laura, but stale as it was, that was probably the most succinct idea you translated into words. Some examples for comparison:

“Subject matter and colour spectrum taken into consideration, this record could easily have floated off into the ether of shapeless lo-fi amoebas without the appropriate anchoring.”

“Much of Kairos takes place around a dark lake in the wooded grounds of Dienel’s mind’s eye, beneath a glowing dewy orb.”

“looping patters around dubby thumps, at others jabbing and spindling with the precision of an industrial weaving machine.”

I think you need a change of venue for your thoughts, Laura. You know, you could try sculpting, soap carving, or even interpretive dance. I think I’d understand flailing and prancing about White Hinterland’s new album more than I understood the stuff you wrote.

You see, Laura, when you write such weird, abstract gibberish about an album that few people have experienced yet, you’re not exactly holding their hand on the tour. If you’d written this review two years hence after swaths of people had soaked it in, half this stuff might make sense. Now it just reads like a really emo yearbook page. Wait – my mistake. A really emo yearbook page with level 4 encryption:

“a gorgeous collection of aubades, full of the uncertainties that late night emotional lucubrations bring.”

I feel like I’m in a Chinese butcher shop, not knowing what the hell’s in front of me. Look, I get that the Quietus isn’t geared towards the grown-up kids in remedial math, but could you at least ATTEMPT to include folks who don’t carry a pocket Webster’s? What’s your angle here, Snapes? You saying only those who’ve studied the Total Codex can sit in your tree house? Well, f**k your tree house.

Piecing together what would possess someone to mold this lump of bird suet is a struggle. Conspiracy theories are now bouncing around my brain. Even though none of your writing’s ever tickled my taint, I don’t remember it being such a literary hysterectomy. I’m starting to think John Doran put you up to this. Did he refuse to publish it unless you stretched those sentences? Did he dangle your job and the option of writing four more adjectives to describe a cloud?

“In spite of the many words that have been bandied about to try and describe this new hazy, dreamy, diaphanous, gauzy, hypnagogic cloud that’s engulfed music in recent months, it seems that the Ancient Greeks coined the perfect encapsulation of all that woozes over 2000 years ago.”

Who’s been bandying the words? Sorry, I didn’t hear about that new hypnagogic cloud in passing near the water cooler. Let me know who’s been trying to describe it, though. They sound like my kind of writer. In the meantime, Laura, you might want to get your pleasure center checked out or at least take it for a spin sometime. You might learn something.

Album: One-Armed Bandit

Reviewer: John Doran

The Quietus, 2010

Writing Disorders: Idea Fever, Detachment Syndrome, Toxic Tedium








Longest Sentence: 65 words

Irony: “never sinks to anything like pastiche”




John, like any good music critic, I’m going to start this off with a barely relevant metaphor. Your website reminds me of the episode of The Simpsons where Homer meets his half-brother Herb. Before their chance encounter, Herb demands to hear about the new lineup of cars planned for his company. The nearest guy in a suit says, “You’re going to love this, sir. The…Persephone.”

Herb barks out in his Danny Devito voice, “PERSEPHONE? What the HELL kind of name is PERSEPHONE?”

That about sums up the reaction I had when Kate mentioned your website to me. The Quietus?  It’s funny enough you picked a URL that ranks behind a tinnitus medication in search queries, but naming a tightly puckered music site after a Medieval Latin word is just the cat’s ass.

In honor of discovering The Quietus, I’m going to try something new here, John. I’m going to take some lines from your website’s mission statement in the “About” section and see how well you carry the banner. I mean, who better to represent “some of the best music writers from the last 30 years” than the editor of the site that proclaims to employ them? Does that sound like fun? Good. Here goes:

“First and foremost the emphasis will be on quality writing that avoids the all-filler no-killer route that so many magazines have gone down”

Might be aiming a little high, but I like your resolve, John. Let’s forget for a moment that you started your review with a paragraph-long history of the fruit-themed slot machine, and skip straightaway to your dissection of the album.  This sentence really pummels the competition:

“The suggestion is that Jaga Jazzist are as capable of acting on a challenge as they are at surprising as they are at entertaining.”

John, were you trying to write a Rubik’s cube of a sentence here or did you just forget to edit out a clause? Maybe the writing is so sophisticated that my plebian eyes just can’t detail its brilliant cut. You are the editor after all. While my retinas recover, let’s see if we can find an example of your dedication to the all-killer, no-filler approach so perfected by Sum 41:

“On one of several stand-out tracks ‘Toccata’, there is a knowing nod to Phillip Glass as it builds slowly round choppy looping and contrasting minimal lines played on pianos and glockenspiel before bearded beat behemoth Martin Horntveth kicks in with a rhythm that switches effortlessly between a locked swing groove and some blasting Buddy Rich fills”

Wow, with such an intricate description, who even needs the music? Jesus, John, might you have saved even a crumb for the ears? Oh wait, you weren’t finished:

“Add trombone and tuba to provide a parping bass groove and the resultant sound clash sounds not unlike Penguin Cafe Orchestra providing a live soundtrack to Koyaanisqatsi: Life Out of Balance with beats provided by St. Germain and DJ Shadow.”

“Sound clash sounds?” John, a little verb agreement agreement might bring your audience one step closer to braving the viscosity of your encyclopedia “Toccata.” Here, you work on that while I download three different artists’ music and rent that movie to try and piece together an enhanced appreciation of that song I’ve never heard.

But before I run to the local obscure videocassette store, let’s see how John Doran exemplifies yet another plank in platform of The Quietus:

“We will inject a strong mix of opinion, humour, intelligence and passion back into journalism utilizing the best writers for the job”

I think you’ve already proved that you’re by far the best writer for the job of injecting things, John, so how about we hit those other bullets? This review was just filled to the brim with humour, so it’s hard to pin down the moment where I laughed the hardest. Seriously, I was laughing so hard that I peed THROUGH my computer screen.

Nah, I’m just kidding. The review was boring as shit, but there was one unintentionally funny bit:

“Along with a preternatural ability to procure a lock-in and play darts and killer, the career drinker should be intimate with the fruity.”

John, I’m sure that last phrase is the badass way of describing slot machines across the pond, but over here…well, let’s just say the phrase “intimate with the fruity” has different connotations.

I guess all that’s left is the “strong mix of opinion”:

“they can remind one of the sterling work”

“he sweetly seduces the listener with his honeyed trumpet tones”

“for the listener this is the equivalent of hitting three bars in a row”

Introducing new third person opinions! All the letters and words of a regular opinion, with none of the soul!

All right, play time’s over, John. I’m glad we have a chance to meet again after I featured your weird tantrum about that Maps album on NME. Rest assured, I’ll be visiting The Quietus in the future. After all, it is the best of the best. Mmmmmm….so good.