Album: Hurley

Reviewer: Gabe Vodicka

Tiny Mix Tapes, 2010

Writing Disorders: Scorn Disease








Most Emo Phrase: “awkward cultural references…hardly qualify as anything resembling emotion.”

Outback Special: “a solid slab of hooky pop-punk”




I jumped for joy when I found out about Hurley. Just as you can predict riots like the weather if somebody threatens a Quran burning, you can count on pasty men in their 20s scribbling angry prose about a new Weezer album. 14 years after Pinkerton, some dudes are still sour on a middle aged band no longer satisfying their emo cravings.

To me that’s hilarious, but I can see you’re not giggling, Gabe. I reckon most balanced people would just let Rivers sell Raffi to the kids and listen to something else, but most music critics aren’t balanced.





Of course this isn’t your first Tiny Mix tantrum over an album that didn’t milk your nut. Not that I blame someone fresh out of college for wanting the title of angriest dude on the subject of radio music. I was that guy too. And after listening to you recreate Iron and Wine in every minor key imaginable on MySpace, I can understand why you’re so incensed. You’re still a dick about it.

But hey, to each his own, eh? You do your thing and I’ll do mine. And the angrier you get about an album of music, the easier it is for me to make fun of you. Let’s start with a slice of irony from your review:

“it’s also hard to excuse Hurley for its general laziness”

Wow, what a coincidence. Read this:

“This band used to be pretty good, and now they’re not so good. That’s that.”

Beyond the obvious, this review was one big salute to general laziness, kid. I got the impression reading it that Weezer was just a dude singing a handful of lines. You spent half the review moaning about how Rivers Cuomo doesn’t mope hard enough to write lyrics as heavy as “So how does this go/and how do I let go.” There was no mention of guitar, bass, or drums other than “fuzzed chords,” but you still found plenty of space for a paragraph-long quote from a disgruntled fan and other richly nuanced stuff like this:

“Weezer’s slow transformation from geeky alternative heroes to mainstream rock bottom feeders has been pretty well-documented elsewhere, so I won’t bother with any over-thought meta-analysis here.”

But…but…we’d been so looking forward to another over-thought meta-analysis of that transformation! Think of the children, Gabe! Seriously though, if by “well-documented” you mean other unpaid writers grousing the full nine about a band’s change in direction, then let’s go ahead and add you to those hallowed rolls.

Speaking of bottom feeder…

“The announcement of Hurley, the band’s eighth album, offered a glimmer of hope in that it would be the group’s first-ever release outside the major-label confines of Geffen.”

Dude, I think the glimmer might just be you taking a break from being a complete asshole. It’s not like you give any indication you listened to this album more than once. But forget about that for a second. “In that it would be”? I’ve seen clearer glass in a nudie booth. Anybody teach you the word “as,” or would using it drop you to the level of Weezer fans after 2000?

Even Jehovah might forgive this muddy corncob you shat onto the internet if you did it in a drunken rush. But you sure made a pageant out of a cam show. Here, read this:

“mechanical dreck that has peppered”

That’s some serious assonance, Gabe, and it tells me something. This review was no crime of passion. You actually put some hours and a can of moxie into sucking off someone else’s effort. God knows I do the same stuff, but there’s a difference.  Far as I see, I’m the bird who eats the louse feeding on the rhino’s hard work.  So if we go by nature’s rules, I’m the predator and you’re a parasite. And I don’t have a problem with that, parasite.

I do have a problem with your horn tooting. You sure 600 words was enough room for your high horse?

“I’m being generous”

“Maybe Weezer deserves the benefit of the doubt”

Right, but only after you spend five paragraphs banging them in the neck. You need me to call a specialist to confirm you’re just being a douche? Yeah, I’d say men who give the gift of music deserve something more than you’re giving. But before you rush to write some more safely anonymous tunes, why don’t you go ahead and cook me a burrito, Gabe.

Album: Teenage Dream

Reviewer: Rudy Klapper

Sputnikmusic, 2010

Writing Disorders: Scorn Disease, Infectious Punctuation








Truth Brother: “and threesomes (nothing screams rebellion like an Eiffel tower)”




Rudy, I’m a prick. Even before I started scrawling red ink on your review, I combed the net for emo autobiographies and juicy photos – anything to ridicule. I’m not above poking fun at a dude’s BMI if he gropes musicians with enough adverbs. Trouble is you’re a good-looking cat. As the pinnacle of manhood, I know it’s hard roughing up a handsome man on the basis of his looks. You’ve got a crummy hairdo, but there’s Lou Reed in your face and that’s cool with me.

So I’ll have to settle on picking this salty booger you wrote. I don’t need a pie chart confirming Katy Perry’s low rank in line to rimjob your ear, but maybe some of my readers could use the visual aid:





Since you love analogies so much, here’s one to chew. Picture a dude writing an angry 700-word product review on Amazon because Mall Madness didn’t live up to his expectations for a board game. Got that image? Good. Now read this:

“those wretched lyrics”

“front-loading your record with terrible tracks”

“it’s a terrible song with a double entendre so blunt”

“cheesy synths”

Were they cheddar synths or provolone? Seriously, what’s wrong with you? It’s a pop album, dude. I can only speak for myself, but even if I still had the gall to dump on musicians, I’d probably take it down a notch here. After all, it’s a naked babe on a cloud. Who knows…maybe chicks pose nude for reasons OTHER than selling out. You might’ve sucked more from your headphones if you pictured Katy Perry slamming your dong like a Liu Kang uppercut. I’m sure you’re already denying any possibility of holding an erection to this album’s music, but you could have at least tried thinking dirty thoughts. Or maybe not…

“why do you spend four minutes demanding to see my tool?”

“a song so repulsively crass and soulless that it makes “Dirrty”-era Aguilera look like Mandy Moore.”

Well shit, John Calvin, maybe you should try the Buggles. If Katy Perry’s repulsively crass, what’s Cannibal Corpse? You sure you’re not just heaving hyperbole around like a lead sock? I’ll duck just in case.

Like most other folks who nitpick music instead of making it, you had a royal problem with this musician’s lyrics. Since you wrote enough horizontal beat markers into your review, let’s see how your lyrics stack up, champ. Hyphen away:

don’t-give-a-damn

run-of-the-mill

semi-anthemic, hormone-baiting…sing-a-LOOOONGS

don’t-give-a-damn

run-of-the-mill

limelight-stealing, front-loading…faux-SAXOPHOOOOONE

Whoa, now I’m screaming sing the chorus again. Ladies and gentlemen, that was Rudy Klapper singing “Can’t Find a Thesaurus.”

I can’t really carp on technical stuff since your review was actually readable, but I still managed to find a couple really dumb points. You know, like scolding “desperate” adolescents as if you were more than two years out from being one.  Or this:

“You could have been the next Gaga”

Oh, because Gaga was big in the ‘80s and Katy Perry’s poised to explode in the ‘20s? There’s a one year age difference between the two singers, and Gaga’s the younger one. Generally someone isn’t hailed as the “next” fill in the blank when the blank’s a contemporary who ain’t leaving the mountaintop anytime soon.

Rudy, you’re not a bad writer. At least you’re nowhere close to some of the fools I feature on RipFork. But from one prick to another, “there’s nothing sadder than wasted talent.” A great Klapper taught me that.







*Yes folks, I understand that I spend my time criticizing music critics. That is the point.

Album: The Illusion of Safety

Reviewer: William Grant

Drowned in Sound, 2010

Writing Disorders: Scorn Disease, Jargon Palsy








Stuffiest Phrase: “an ironic stab at the vacuous nature of that which it fit into”

Spoon uppa Ass: “I by no means profess to be any sort of modern pop obsessive”




William Grant, if you’re a girl, I apologize. Jess Harvell ruined my boner when she ended up being a dude, so I’m taking names with a grain of salt these days. I can take a better stab at what’s in your pants with a picture, but more on that later. Don’t soil your ovaries if I got your gender wrong, he-man. Now let’s focus on your review.

I didn’t like it. Almost as much as you didn’t like this Hoosiers album. I’d still have beef with you giving bands the rusty trombone even if you weren’t a bad writer.  But you are a bad writer, Will, so let’s run with that:

So, with that in mind, what can be said about The Illusion Of Safety is that if you have any inclination towards the beautifully intricate synthesized pop of the Eighties, and hence a lot of modern accessible Shiny Songs, then the opening double gambit will, remarkably, make you quite happy.

So…after all that cotton, you’re saying folks who like ‘80s synth pop will like two songs on this album? I’m guessing none of your teachers ever graded for editing. Try rereading your stuff every once in a while without a hand down your waistband and you might catch the declutter bug.

You write like most other music lice in their twenties, but a couple times you broke free of the pack. That’s no compliment. Nothing blue balls my brain worse than the word “esque,” and you really took it to a whole new level of pussy footing:

Lead single ‘Choices’ has an almost Hot Chip-esque synth line

Ugh. Dude, consider what you wrote there.  Almost-esque.  You’re saying this lead single was hardly almost like something.  That’s like saying Claire Danes’ peaches are almost Heather Graham-esque.  I mean, they ARE breasts, but not quite. Consider something in the future, kid. If you’re gonna compare, try standing on a leg stronger than a used tampon.

I don’t reckon your listening rivaled the time spent making the album, but you rained down static all the same. After mentioning the first two songs, you had this to say:

Unfortunately, despite their gallant strides, the rest of the album is a chore.

So let me get this straight, Will. You’ll burn time dissecting a synth line down two levels, but 5/6 of an album of music is just a chore? Like emptying the trash or cleaning the fish tank? Thank god you explained all the lazy with a whole new paragraph. It was even 11 words longer than your opening anecdote about serving cider to men! Phew. For a minute I thought you were being lazy.

Well shit. Let’s back up the smack with some staggering William Grant prose:

as well as a a serious not to the idea of the ‘hook’.

Hold on a second while I pen a quick note. Dear Drowned in Sound editors – when one of your minions writes himself into a seizure, it’s your job to clean up the mess. Two typos in the span of three words? Put that on a resume.

Okay. Sorry about that, Will. For the love of Christ, edit your own shit, dude.

I’d wrap this up so you can go find another hobby, but I’m not going to let you off so easy. I promised more about that picture of you after all. I peed myself giddy at this new evidence suggesting Drowned in Sound writers shop at the same creepy milkman store:





Will, take a knee. Do you understand what you look like in those things?  You look like a sex offender.  I’m sure you’re just expressing yourself or something, but I don’t reckon rapist glasses are pushing you almost-esque toward a straight girl or gay man’s favor.* Men need to bang, and those things aren’t helping.

Baby steps though. Keep niggling musicians for not pleasing your ear. Can’t be making drastic change right out of the gate. I’ll be checking in.




* Or whatever combos they have these days under the T and Q.

Album: Isis/Melvins Split

Reviewer: Jess Harvell

Pitchfork, 2010

Writing Disorders: Infectious Punctuation, Idea Fever, Scorn Disease








Use a Thesaurus: “a bit of a dull”

Don’t Ask Don’t Tell: “I don’t mean that in a disparaging way at all”

HA: “climaxes are so restrained you can almost miss them,” “tight but heavy”




Jess, we both have our shortfalls. I write like a dick and you write like a bitch. Apples and oranges. Bands seem to like me though. Maybe because I don’t tee off like this:

It’s probably asking too much of two songs…Nonetheless, it’s a bit of a dull adieu.

Glad you went ahead and asked too much anyway, since the world could always use more people who ask too much.  By the way, what’s a real dull adieu?

Jess, this is the third time you’ve been heckled here, and it’s not just a lurid sexual fetish.  I haven’t muscled my way to your level of unpaid gigs, but I don’t think writing’s your strong suit.

(Admittedly with a few stylistic changeups along the way.)

What is that?  An advertising disclaimer?  Two questions are jostling to the fore here, Jess. Why the parentheses and why the period?  Am I supposed to imagine you whispering racy secrets about “stylistic changeups” in my ear? Good, because I am.

Tell you what — let’s put your last bit behind the one from the Sentence Protection Program so they can hump. I want to see why the catcher doesn’t want an independent clause in the chute:

Then Isis… kept going. (Admittedly with a few stylistic changeups along the way.)

Jess, there’s a reason no 50-foot spaghetti gun popped up in Doom.  Using something like that to kill an imp would be ridiculous, just like penning a whole new sentence in parentheses when a comma would have worked wonders.  (Readers, she did this again. She clamped the same curvy chastity belt on a 40-word sentence down the line. Read this quietly though, maybe in a Clive Owen voice. I don’t want her to hear.)

You know what I think your problem is, Harvell?  You write like you’re still in high school. Not just the emotalics and the crummy punctuation either. I’m talking English class on puberty. You know…why say a story includes something when you can say it’s PLAGUED by it?

The same problem plagues “Way Through Woven Branches” and “The Pliable Foe” here.

…

Two more Isis songs are wheeled into the ER…

Nurse: They keep coming in.  What’s wrong with these PEOPLE?

Doctor: I don’t know, Emma, I don’t KNOW.  But I suspect the music is too static to achieve any sort of real grandeur!

…

I hear the cure for the plague is recording something better. Oh, but that would take work and creativity. My bad.

I don’t want to be here all morning, Jess, so let’s take a quick look at those emotalics:

surprisingly nimble

didn’t plan

finally let loose

adieu

Am I supposed to shout that stuff in my head or are they breath markers to remind me not to pass out from boredom? Sure glad I gulped some air before I was told that I could “only hope they’ll explore it for a little longer.” Wasn’t a total loss though. Try reading “surprisingly nimble” without picturing the Melvins prancing like leprechauns. Hardee’s har har, $2.99.

Jess, let me know when senior year’s over.  I’ll clap you through graduation from times when girls pick on girls, and those girls pick on music.

Album: Nightmare

Reviewer: Jeff Weiss

Los Angeles Times, 2010

Writing Disorders: Ambiguity Sickness, Detachment Syndrome, Scorn Disease








Stuffiest Phrase: “your inclination to the aesthetic”

Sexy: “almost pornographic”




Jeff, ripping this dumb review is a moot point considering the 186 comments it’s already received, but I couldn’t resist. Few critics go anywhere near metal, and I personally think it runs deeper than distaste. After all, metalheads are passionate fans, and they’re not afraid to call bullshit on haters, especially when haters spec before they check.

About the only good thing I noticed was the brevity, so there’s plenty to probe here, Jeff. But before we get you lubed up, I want to start with a visual. I think it’ll help ease the entry. These are the five albums you reviewed over the last month and a half:





Three out of five are hip hop releases. That tells me you like hip hop. Not metal. Scanning through your blog posts I’m not seeing many tattooed men with Schecter guitars either. Feel free to upload your Lamb of God remixes, but based on what’s in front of me, I’m gonna say you’re not really into the whole metal thing.

And that brings me to my most pressing question: why did you review this album?

“Whether you appreciate the veteran hard rock/metal hybrid depends on your tolerance for spiraling guitars, avalanche drums and satanic screams.”

Jeff, it’s not like the album’s style is out of left field. It’s clear you’re not much for the basic blueprint, so why’d you review something built on it? To warn metal haters to avoid an album called “Nightmare” with a winged reaper hovering over a terrified child? Something tells me your average Drake fan isn’t gonna go buy that on a whim. If you were ASSIGNED this album, that doesn’t help your case much either. Hammering something you had no chance of liking for a major newspaper is a disservice to music even if it’s music you’d rather do without.

If the style doesn’t melt your butter, that’s cool. But don’t diss the audience like it’s a herd of pubescent sheep that don’t know no better. Ahem:

“With imagery haunted by death and lyrical allusions to alienation and angst, Avenged Sevenfold’s fifth full-length is almost impossible to appreciate unless you fit the prime demographic: tormented teenage boys.”

Dude, unless you’re a mix of every man and woman on earth under 13 or over 19, I don’t think you can make that kind of assertion. How do you know elderly transgendered folks or college-bound girls wouldn’t bang their heads to this stuff? In lieu of a new census poll, you might try sticking with your own dismal assessment without projecting it onto others.

The Linkin Park reference alone speaks volumes about your metal know-how, but you make a full run of dubious points in this review. Here’s one from your opening paragraph:

“The major labels may continue to wither, but they won’t go out without a bang. After all, there’s no other way to explain the recent promotional tie-in between the new Avenged Sevenfold track “Welcome to the Family,” and its ideological brethren, the ultra-violent video game, “Call of Duty: Black Ops.”

Jeff, you JUST explained it another way. Seems like “ideological brethren” would be paired in a promotion because of marketing 101, not a last ditch industry effort to go out with a bang. Besides, I don’t think I’m alone saying that when I gear up for simulated war, I ain’t listening to Belle and Sebastian.

There’s plenty not to like about your review, Jeff, but there was one bit that really bit my bird:

“The sincerity is palpable even if the style seems synthetic, particularly on “So Far Away,” which presumably addresses the untimely death last year of their drummer, James “The Rev” Sullivan.”

First off — seems like you should get a firmer handle on whether something’s a tribute to a dead man before you start slagging the style. You’re essentially saying the band could have done a better job honoring their fallen comrade, IF indeed that’s what they’re doing. Wow. Do you also do funerals, Jeff? Music criticism sure is something.

Try reading those comments. You might learn something.