Where the Experts Aren't: A Shaggy Dog of Sorts

Your pal here has about the same musical taste as the Believer crew, so I enjoy their yearly music issue, without too much reservation.

(Which is to say that part of my listening tastes overlap with what they hold up as good and interesting music.  Their comp CDs definitely skew toward indie and/or precious, and may necessitate a strong chaser of Sly Stone, Fela Kuti, or, I dunno, Li'l Wayne (yo, audio!), if one indulges in too many spins.  This would be avoidable if they'd be more catholic in their choices, but that's a matter for another post.)

Thanks to the latest issue, and my eagle-eyed pal BOC, I've been clued in and listening to Bill Fox's albums Shelter from the Smoke & Transit Byzantium.  They're pretty wonderful, I think, especially the latter. I might not go so far as to call Fox a lost genius, but he seems to have a healthy respect for the Great American Songbook and knows his craft, which makes for great pop music (that unfortunately isn't popular at all, but could or should be).

If I were a hack music critic, this is where I might describe Bill Fox as Bob-Dylan-meets-Elliott Smith.  Because sometimes he sounds like Dylan, and sometimes like the late Mr. Smith.  You can insert your artists of choice in this hack critic's template, and you'd be no more right or wrong than I.

And why not construct something even more hacktastic, tapping the manifold possibilities of the [Blank] meets [Blank], on [Drug(s)]: Bill Fox is Bob-Dylan-meets-Elliott Smith on Little Kings Cream ale and Xanax.  True, we're getting away from actually describing the music, but we're having more fun.  Why not [Blank] and [Blank], on [Drug(s)], etc.:

Bill Fox's Transit Byzantium is Bob Dylan and Elliott Smith, driving drunk down Hwy 80 at 3 a.m., in a Dodge Dart with the Harry Smith Anthology on the stereo.

To be honest, there's nothing wrong with hack criticism, as long as one recognizes it for what it is, and doesn't mistake the bad-Beat wordplay for insight.  There once was a reason for [Blank] meets [Blank]-type reviews; namely, to provide the time-strapped consumer with a bit of shorthand to help her with her purchases.

These days, such trifles are harder to justify: Virtual unknowns like Bill Fox might benefit from the flowchart approach, although the illusion of a programmatic outcome (i.e., enjoyment or approval) is an obvious shortcoming:

Do you like Bob Dylan?-->Yes-->Do you like Elliott Smith?-->Yes-->Then you will like Bill Fox.

On the other hand, true pop works (Stephen King novels and Fall Out Boy CDs) do not require reviews that are between 50 and 5,000 words.  Brand name authors suffer along with built-in audiences; popular bands are a bit tougher to pigeonhole, if only because the single format allows a cheap'n'easy possibility for the non-fan to stick his toe in, here and there.  Still, what's the value of the 250-word review when samples of the music are available everywhere, for free?

As Hemingway sez: Nada.

The last thing you need is some punk in skinny jeans smearing Vaseline on the lens when you can see clear as day.

For the most part, the experts aren't (useful).

And most everyone under 40 knows this, or should.  Your mainstream content providers know it, too, which explains the why they're flopsweatin' like Nixon circa 1960 and denouncing the "Cult of the Amateur" at every opportunity.

Unfortunately, their response seems to revolve around 1) setting up institutional blog-like organs (which tend to read like nursing homes smell); and 2) throwing more self-styled experts at the problem, which explains phenomena like Nancy Grace, the endless parade of Judge So-and-So People's Court knockoffs, all of VH1's programming, and "What Is the Best Work of American Fiction of the Last 25 Years?" among many, many others. 

To be blunt, in the absence of anything coherent, they're resorting to making shit up and then bringing on people who pretend to be authorities on this make-believe bullshit, which I suppose means that Henry Rollins is considered the High Priest of Punk Cred on Big Rock Candy Mountain.

(Yes, Virginia, your pal the Rake has been willing witness to countless hours of VH1's laziest programming.  He's not made of stone.  The professional listmakers' core insanity lies in the way in which they hold up sub-B list comedians and other cultural freaks as insightful, worthy commentators.  Certainly there are subjects upon which Ron Jeremy is an expert, but the Top 100 Scorchtastic Movie Kisses is not one of them, not least of all because the very object of his commentary is chimerical.)

All respect is due to the ESPN braintrust, who has tapped the deepest, richest vein of this inanity with "Who's Now?"--an exercise that involves selecting "32 ultimate sports stars," placing them at random into a single elimination tournament bracket, and winnowing them down until we figure out "Who's Now," or, that is, "Who's the Nowiest":

Throughout July, "SportsCenter" will air "Who's Now," a daily series in which viewers will help ESPN determine the ultimate sports star by considering both on-field success and off-field buzz. Based on fan nominations, ESPN Research selected 32 finalists to square off in a single-elimination bracket. The winner of each matchup will advance based upon fan voting (70 percent) and ESPN's three-person panel (30 percent). In the first round, the panel consists of Michael Wilbon, Kirk Herbstreit and Keyshawn Johnson.

Anyone with even a passing interest in the absurd should watch this daily series, which is probably the next best thing to being a fly on the wall of a particularly boisterous and sartorially splendid insane asylum.  There's nothing quite like two sports journalists and an NFL-wide-receiver-turned-sports journalist trying to determine who, between Super-Bowl-QB Peyton Manning and elite-swimmer-cum-rather-dubious-Playboy-model Amanda Beard, has more "buzz" and then puzzle over how to convert units of "buzz" into units of "now."

Shows like this give birth to snide media metacritics, just as films like Manos: The Hands of Fate gave birth to the back-talking robots of Mystery Science Theater. 

Stuck on his satellite, and surrounded by movies that by their overwhelming insistence demanded respect, but by their content assured that none was deserved, the lone human on board needed irony, and her handmaiden, sarcasm, to survive.  To that end, he created a community of likeminded souls.

(This would be the time to bring up how the emotional rupture caused by the 9/11 attacks was reported to have killed irony, which itself is a brilliant advertisement for the nutritive and necessary qualities of irony, without even taking into consideration the events of the subsequent six years or so.)

So, sure, the blogs count amount their number some fantastic critics, but the smartass metacritics (see Fire Joe Morgan and Sadly, No!) are no less valuable in providing a bulwark against the encroaching insanity of experts who aren't. 

Which is not to say that there's no need for brilliant mainstream minds to ballast the angry metacritics; there certainly is.  When brilliant and challenging critics receive widespread exposure and sales and acclaim, the AMs will be the first to stand and applaud.

It's just, how are you going to sell soap with that?

Comments

[pgwp]

Regarding the relevance of music critics in the face of oh-so-convenient mp3 blogs, I went on about that a while back at my blog. In a nutshell, I think there's a shit-ton to say about music, whether or not you can post a link to a song or album stream. Intelligent commentary is always useful, and there's more to (good) record reviews than mere consumer guide.

http://wishiwerethere.typepad.com/pgwp/2007/04/so_ive_updated_.html

[Rake]

"Intelligent commentary is always useful, and there's more to (good) record reviews than mere consumer guide."

Quite so, although I'm looking out over a vast wasteland of heterogeneous 250 to 1,000 word reviews, most of which are rendered useless by MySpace, mp3 blogs, etc.

Clearly I'd love to see more short-from music commentary along the lines of, say, Greil Marcus (when he's lucid) and Lester Bangs (ditto, and not pale LB imitators) and John Darnielle.

PFork I find not so helpful, though AMG I like if only for the vast amount of information therein. There are other good sources out there, though.

I'm trying to lure my music expert out of hiding to do something like what we're both (I think) talking about; also in the works on my part is a series on the relationship between critics and R. Kelly, although I'm going to have to slog through a lot of R. Kelly first, which promises to be a mixed pleasure.

[BOC]

Hey, you mentioned my name. Does that make me Hench or J-Bug?