An indie-pop duo, upset by the latest in a string of apparently critical reviews of their albums, recently took to Instagram to lambaste online music magazine Pitchfork and its writers, then took a potshot at Paste for saying the album in question isn’t as good as their previous works despite being given a higher numeric rating. (That different reviewers may have assigned said scores may not have occurred to them.) Comments on the post then took off as one might expect, with most damning Pitchfork and music critics in general, with only a brave few defending what is, at its best, an art form in and of itself.
I’ve been devouring music reviews since the late 1970s onward, from the capsule kind that appeared in the Philadelphia Inquirer’s Entertainment section every Sunday to page turners that appeared in Creem, Musician, Trouser Press, Record and Rolling Stone magazines, not to mention the original Rolling Stone Record Guides. I discovered a lot of great artists who were either never played on Philadelphia’s radio stations or, if they were, never played on the stations I listened to. I’d never have learned of Lone Justice, the Long Ryders and Three O’Clock without them, to name three favorite bands off the top of my head.
I’ve bought albums based on five-star reviews. I’ve bought them based on one-star appraisals, too. At their best, a review gives a sense of the music—sometimes via comparisons to other artists (a shorthand approach that has its pluses and minuses), other times by analyzing the melodies, rhythms and rhymes. Back in the day, when bylines were prominent, you got to know the preferences of the reviewers, too. Dave Marsh championed R&B-derived rock, for instance, and disliked most things folk or pop, so when he lauded the former it meant it was something I should check out. I generally ignored his slams of the latter, however, as I obviously have a predilection for both. Either/or, I still enjoyed reading his ripostes.
I still discover new and new-to-me artists and bands from reviews. Some fans are content with algorithm-driven music discovery, but to me the use of past plays to predict new likes ensures a lot of good music falls through the cracks. If you love music, as many of us do, you’ll do well to scan what other people think about upcoming and new releases; it’s a way to get beyond the hype machine.
All that said, Pitchfork has never been in the rotation of sources I rely on. I’m not sure why, though its reliance on snark likely played a part. Back in the day, when it was first starting out, I preferred the more staid AllMusic, plus Mojo, Uncut and other print magazines. These days, it’s still Mojo and Uncut, plus No Depression and a slew of blogs, some of whom I list in the Blogroll elsewhere on this page. I even read reviews of albums I’ve spotlighted just to see how their takes line up with mine.
One of my main goals in life, which I failed to achieve, was to review records for Rolling Stone. Instead, when it comes to writing about music, my CV includes missives that popped up in a West Coast art magazine for a time, plus the original Old Grey Cat (1997-2006), a fanzine (1998-2000) that I co-founded with friends, and then, after a few years offline, the Old Grey Cat v.2, which began life as occasional essays on the Hatboro-Horsham Patch in February 2012. (In there, too, were years of covering television for a variety of TV magazines.) In its earliest days, as anyone brave enough to leaf through my archives can attest, the OGC blog existed at the intersection of music and memories; it’s only been the last few years, really, that I’ve leaned into reviewing new releases more often than not.
Agree with me—or not. It’s okay. Sometimes, I’m sure, my interpretations are daft. But I firmly believe that songs (as all art) take on lives of their own. As I explained in my slalom through Dan Fogelberg’s The Innocent Age, ”experiencing music is about more than just strapping on the headphones or cranking up the stereo. It’s an idiosyncratic exercise that’s as much about the listener’s headspace as it is the artist, album or song; there’s no right or wrong, per se, just likes and dislikes, with much—if not all—of those situational.”
I also, to my core, believe that the best music makes the good times even better and the bad times a little more manageable. In today’s age, especially, when new releases are often lost in a never-ending sonic tsunami, it’s important to spotlight music that might otherwise not be heard. That the “best” music for me may not be right for you (and vice versa) is why I inject tidbits from my life into my essays and reference my many other interests, from poetry to TV to political stuffs—it provides context for the whys and wherefores, I think.
The Old Grey Cat 