A Critique Of Pure Criticism

If you were to ask me what the most enjoyable aspect of being a critic is, the answer is two-fold; 1) Writing in purple prose about music that has moved my emotions and taught me about myself, and 2) Writing in acidic prose about music that offends me and drains by bile. They are flip sides of the same coin, the metaphorical 'two cents' we chip in even when not asked for our opinion. Having one is the ante to sit at the table, but only those who are able to think critically and examine the situation will be able to master the game.

The worst thing that can happen to a critic is to be struck by music that is merely average. Those albums and songs are the bane of my existence, because they offer nothing to talk about. They are the musical equivalent of when you meet a person with no personality, and then try to describe them to your friends. As one of those people, I know how hard it is.

Music is the same way. There are plenty of records that serve the purpose of idle chit-chat while you wait in line, but few that are worth remembering when you're asked later on how your day went. As we get older, stimuli need to be stronger to make a mark on us, and the average no longer stands a chance of pounding their shape into the tanned leather of our memories. Perhaps the faintest outline will be there if you stare through a loupe, but you would only be seeing the remnants of lipstick from a kiss whose moisture long ago turned into desert sands.

Writing critically is more than merely sharing an opinion, it's an exercise in explaining your understanding of the world. With so much of the world now boiled down to star ratings, we seldom dive deeper to understand the how and why of our opinions. Do we know why we hate certain records? Why we have an instant dislike of certain people? Why we hate aspects of ourselves?

Negative reviews are some of the most fun I can have as a critic, but not because I enjoy ripping bad music apart. In all honesty, I would welcome having the ability to love the majority of the albums I listen to, the way it must be for people who make lists of their hundred favorite records of a given year. Discerning taste is not a bad thing, although in some areas it can lead to intense loneliness, but I consider it a better option than having no standards at all. If someone tells you they like everything, is their opinion worth anything? Are they possibly happy people if anything at all is good enough for them?

Those are heady questions for another time. I want to focus on negative reviews, because it was pointed out to me recently that the most bitter pieces I write are often the favorites of readers. I get that sentiment, but I do wonder if they are taken the way I intend. While I don't hold back my feelings, and I attempt to find creative ways of expressing myself, I do so from a perspective of trying to explain exactly how and why these albums fall short of the mark.

As a critic, I find it insulting when writers and reactors offer nothing more substantial than "it sucks" as a hot take. While it might be the same conclusion, it is by no means the same evaluation. Criticism for the sake of being mean and petty is not criticism, it is laziness that says as much about the critic as it does the criticized subject. The purpose of criticism is not just to share an opinion, but to be constructive and explain what mistakes can be avoided in the future. It's true that few of the artists I talk about will ever read the negative reviews, let alone take them to heart, but the sentiment is still there. And it has happened in the past that an artist thanked me for a negative review, because I gave them suggestions on how to better their songwriting the next time around.

When I tore into the new album from The Offspring as I did recently, I could have thrown together a litany of insults and pejoratives. Instead, I tried to consider the arc of their career, explaining how they have taken paths that have shot their own success in the foot, and how they no longer understand the irony they used to live in. My essay on the legacy of Blues Traveler's "Four" did the same thing, as I lamented how the band's highest moment was an eclipse that blacked out the awareness of why they became successful. My review of Blink 182's reunion fit this bill as well, as the uncanny valley of that record questioned whether people were being nostalgic for the band, or nostalgic for the nostalgia itself. I doubt anyone, the band included, thought about any of that. But I did.

What I am saying is that being negative is often considered a bad thing, but it is a key element in learning how to better ourselves. Society complains about the paradigm handing out participation trophies to those who don't even try, but we then hold it against those who are honest about the situation.

A friend told me recently that I am too hard on myself, that I am relentlessly negative in ways that push people away. Perhaps that is true, but I would ask a question of them, of everyone; What good does it do to tell people they are wonderful and talented, if they aren't? Much of that negativity I talk about with myself isn't intended as such, but is what I consider a realistic view of the situation. I don't consider it a flaw to admit the ways I fall short of the person I wish I could be. I have come to realize much of that is out of my control, but I know it would be worse for my psyche if I was wading into self-delusion. Of course, those same people who criticize my negativity rarely are able to offer a refutation, let alone an affirmative case to be made on my behalf.

But I digress. The point I want to stress is that music is not a finite battle where only a select number of band and albums can be good. There is no limit to how much great music can be made, and I consider it a duty to tell those who are falling short the ways I think they can improve. I may do it harshly, but some lessons can only be learned that way.

Of course, there are exceptions to every rule, as the saying goes. I won't try to tell you anything I have said about Manowar had good intentions. They deserved it.