Don’t Get Lost In Concepts

The mantra of the unqualified music journalist is, “Try and you will succeed.” And you know what? It works. That’s what sucks about capitalism–you can be an out and out hack who doesn’t give two shits about music, but if you equip yourself with a thesaurus and a firm handshake, you can eventually make a lot more money than I do.

This pisses me off for several obvious reasons:

A.) Music journalism and all forms of entertainment punditry fall under the category of low art. If Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein are the bust-up-the-bad-guy-and-save-the-day detectives of journalism, the music writers are more like the lowly, mall security guards. While the political analyst or corporate investigative journalist must maintain functional people skills and an impressive set of nerves, the music journalist is only asked to state his or her opinion, as quickly and wittily as possible. So those who fail to meet their simple, spoon-fed requirements most certainly qualify for one if not several forms of autism.

B.) And yet, as easy as the job may be, it’s (frustratingly) quite important. Sure, they may not be dragging families from burning buildings or working towards the miracle cancer cure, but if I’m on the fence about a new album, and I want to turn to a magazine or a website to get a feeling for whether or not said album warrants my purchase, I’d rest easier knowing that I could do exactly that. Instead, I have to sift through page after page of thoughtless, meaningless, effortless schlock, always pushing on in the childish hope that someday I may locate that golden egg that actually tells me, “Hey, this album is actually pretty good, for reasons ‘X,’ ‘Y,’ and ‘Z.’” Still looking, by the way.

C.) Fer crying out loud, these people make insane bank and they do nothing! Where’s Matthew Lesko when you need him?!

But, fortunately, friends and readers, we have a weapon against these treacherous semi-writers: Jamie Hewitt and Damon Albarn. You see, in reinventing the rock band, they’ve also reinvented the rock-review. When the newest Gorillaz album lands on the journalist’s desk, he or she must tackle and critique two things: The music, and the concept. The gifted writer will execute this balancing act with skill and grace, while the talentless hack will cover everything in his sweat and vomit, sulking off into obscurity in bitter defeat.

That’s what celebrity take-down really means.

If you want to separate the boys from the men, figure out who’s really doing their job, read a Gorillaz review. Get a blue pen and a yellow pen, and break every statement into two categories. If the writer makes a comment about the music (i.e. “Top tunes and some of Albarn’s best singing”), mark that passage with the blue pen. If the reviewer makes a reference to the concept (i.e. “Like, they’re not even real people, you know? They’re, you know, like, cartoons, Jesus Christ!”), mark that passage with the yellow pen. Then, when you’ve finished your markings, look over your freshly colored review. If you see an abundance of yellow passages and a mere smattering of blue, then congratulations: You just wasted your time listening to the ramblings of an idiot. What you read was not a review, but rather a glorified, sickly public, masturbation session.

Case in point: NME’s Peter Robinson: A dependable, tightly run music bible, and a human representative of worthlessness and idiocy. In his retina-scratching, Chinese Water Torture-esque, 1096 word “review” of Demon Days, Peter chooses an interesting Route. He explains and criticizes the concept of Gorillaz (“[It] began its life as an elaborate and self-indulgent vanity project”), explains and criticizes the Search for a Star contest (“The game was simply in place to have a laugh at the expense of the band’s fans”), and explains and criticizes the Reject False Icons marketing schemes (“A startling lack of logic”). Then, he says, “Oh, right, the music!” and proceeds to squeeze out a recycled, incredibly vague, 313 word review–the last paragraph of the entire tirade. Of course, most of those 313 words are used completely out of relevant context, or come together to make no literal sense at all. My personal favorite: “Light-headed dub, left-of-centre electronic flourished, caricatured wailing from another planet and the irresistible thud of a thousand bass bins.” Somebody buy Peter Robinson a cookie! Behold his mastery of the English language and all of its twists and ambiguities!

By the way, 313 words of review in 1096 words of text makes Peter Robinson’s Demon Days exploration a 28% review. By association, I will henceforth refer to Peter Robinson as a 28% journalist.

At the end of the day, I won’t lend credence to any “review” that isn’t a specific, track-by-track commentary. If you want to write an editorial, write an editorial. But if you want to write a review, sit down and listen to the album like a good little doggy. That way, your audience stays happy and informed, and that thick paycheck you cram down your jammies every month won’t feel so much like blood money.

-Alas, poor Wazawaii. I knew him, Horatio.

(Opinions are the columnists’ own and do not necessarily reflect Gorillaz-Unofficial’s views)