Music journalism V music, or, ponderings on why writing about music sucks the soul out of listening to music

Courtesy of cartoonstock.com

There are two things in life that I love, only two things that I consider to be real ‘interests’: music and well-written word groupings. Faced with a scenario such as this it seemed like a natural progression to try to combine the two, to attempt to merge them into some sort of comprehensible gelatinous gloop of music and words, no? NO. It would seem not. They don’t tell you when you start to write about music (for anyone other than yourself) that it will slowly turn you against the very thing that encouraged you to consider this doomed career path in the first place. To listen to every piece of music critically is to hold with contempt everything you hear until the music proves you wrong. This is not how I like to listen to music. This is not why people create music. Whether you personally, as a ‘music critic’, like a certain song, album, performance, musician, singer or whatever the case may be, is largely irrelevant on the grand scheme of things. Bar a few exceptions, people make the music they do because they love the way it sounds and it means something to them. Sure, there are going to be sell-outs and publicity-whores, but if belting out the songs you love and making a few quid (or a few million quid, as the case may be) along the way brings somebody three or so minutes of happiness (nostalgia,relief, etc.) by listening to it, then you’ve done your job as a musician – idealistic as that thought may be. Ok, so I can’t stand Keane, I think the Kings of Leon are complete sell-outs and there’s a whole generation of teen R’n'Bsters that I am absolutely clueless about, despite priding myself on a vast musical repertoire and taste. This morning my six-year-old told me smugly that the guy gyrating between episodes of ‘The Hills’ on MTV was Chris Brown. I quote,  ”Did you know that mom?”. Actually, no I didn’t. All I knew of Chris Brown was that he was arrested for knocking the head off his girlfriend – I thought it best not to mention this.

Getting back on course, the fact that there are whole genres out there that I couldn’t scratch the surface of – chart, classical, jazz, R’n'B – makes me wonder just why it is that ‘music critics’ project such an air of smug pomposity when it comes to projecting their views on the general public. Ok, I love The Velvet Underground, Fleetwood Mac and Talking Heads, all of whom would be considered ‘credible’ in certain snobbish circles. I don’t love them because they’re cool to love, I love them because they mean something to me and remind me of good times. I also love Led Zeppelin, Bananarama, Pet Shop Boys and Snow Patrol – all of whom can be considered ‘controversial choices’ at best. Similarly, there are people who love Katy Perry, Flo Rida, Chris Brown and Nikelback; because the music brings them joy. It doesn’t matter that they might be teenagers or that they may not have as vast a musical knowledge as your average NME reviewer – their opinion is as valid and valued as anybodies. Which brings me back to my realisation of the pigheadedness of music journalism. Now, I know that this is no great revelation. Journalists are the world’s no.1 most-hated professionals – ahead of estate agents and car salesmen; now in itself is an achievement. But to realise this as someone who has wielded the brush of the critic, I feel lucky. Luck to have come to my senses about music journalism. It’s no longer the holy grail of music knowledge, the end-of-the-road for enthusiasts seeking to display their prowess. With the internet, anybody can be a critic – and this is great! Don’t get me wrong, not everybody can be a writer. Good writing takes natural ability, skill and training. But criticism? That’s anybodies baby. Everybody is entitled to their opinion; there can be no right or wrong. And this is precisely what is so wrong about the tired, back-slapping institution that is music journalism. Opinions are one thing, God-like, elitist musings are another. To give an opinion is one thing, to downright slate someones music or musical tastes is another.

I will continue to review music for this blog and for the magazine I write for, but I find myself increasingly reluctant to give bad reviews. Who am I to give a bad review? If I you like something; great, rave about it, let the world know. If not though, keep it to yourself – or at least amongst a group of similarly-minded, self-confessed ‘music snobs’. You could argue that critics also bring many, many wonderful artists to public light, and there’s no denying that, but my brief foray into the world of the critic has left me disillusioned, with a bad taste in my mouth. Spreading and sharing musical knowledge (music journalism) is a different beast altogether than posing your opinion on this knowledge (music criticism). In my experience, the practice of listening to music critically negates the practice of listening to music joyously and personally, I don’t think that’s a sacrifice I can make.

(For anyone who has actually bothered to read this rant, I apologise for the multi-faceted rambling that took place. I kind of see this blog as a diary where I can get things straight in my head!)

Forest Fire

 

Look, we all know that Bon Iver is a reclusive genius (although the dodgy vocoder-enhanced tune ‘Woods’ currently adorning his myspace might convince otherwise) and Fleet Foxes harmonies are ‘otherworldly’. However if, like me, you would rather have someone slap you in the face with a wet fish and call you Rita than read another end-of-year best album poll lauding Bon Iver and fawning over Fleet Foxes then perhaps point your mouse in the direction of La Blogotheque’s recommendation for album of 2008 and give Forest Fire a listen.

Their debut album, Survival, was released free exclusively on music site The Catbirdseat, it’s lack of physical presence in record stores resulting in it passing largely under the radar of the hype machine. There were a limited number of CDs available to purchase but they flew out like pvc leggings out of Pennys on O’Connell Street. The album has that really lovely unpolished feel to it owing to multiple vocalists and discordant, misplaced instruments throughout. This could be due to the fact that Forest Fire’s members hail from different American states, New York and Oregon, giving way to an amalgamation of musical influences and a necessity to record when the opportunity presents itself.  Mark Thresher of the band explains,  “Not all the members of Forest Fire live on the same coastline, so when certain friends roll through town, things happen pretty quickly.” 

It could be any of these things, or it could be the fact that they’re a band that have the balls to go against the grain of the standardised format that modern music has largely become. They kind of remind me of the Cold War Kids in that regard, refusing to slot into whatever bullshit genre the NME and co. have come up with to describe anything that sounds in any way ‘out of the ordinary’… is anyone else ready to hunt down the bastard who came up with concept of ‘lo-fi’?Anyway, that’s wandering off course a little. The album is called Survival and it’s FREE so download it (for free) HERE.

Madrugada ~ Look Away Lucifer

I was recently introduced to Oslo rock outfit, Magrugada . Their single, Look Away Lucifer is a murky and atmospheric rock song a la Nick Cave… In fact lead vocalist Sivert Høyem’s voice bears such an uncanny resemblance to Cave’s that when I heard the song first I thought it must be another side project for the head Bad Seed. Listen to it here and judge for yourself… if you’re a Bad Seeds or Grinderman fan then you’ll love this!

Orphans & Vandals

This past few weeks I’ve become increasingly enthralled by London based band, Orphans & Vandals. I stumbled across one of their songs – Mysterious Skin – by chance on an oul mixed playlist recently and thought I’d unearthed an old gem from the mid 80’s. But no, Orphans & Vandals are a fairly new outfit, so new in fact that for some reason beyond my comprehension they have yet to be signed and seem to have been largely overlooked by the hype-machine in favour of safe, generic poppets like The Ting Tings and The Coronas. Try as I might, I can find nay a snippet of what I’ve now decided are my ‘new favorite band’ on t’internet bar their myspace page and one dodgy camera phone clip on youtube.

Rather than watching the aforementioned dodgy clip, listen to the lyrically ethereal Mysterious Skin on their myspace page. Lead vocalist Al Joshua’s heartfelt formulaic storytelling is nostalgic of Lou Reed and Whipping Boy and the rising orchestral mix of violins, piano, glockenspiel, toy piano and a host of instrumental oddities laid over a looping bass riff all serve to convey the songs crisp imagery of a story set in Paris. The song has the potential to border on arty pretension but somehow the genuine simplicity in Joshua’s voice powers through and the result is a 10 minute nostalgia trip of love, sex and loss.

Mysterious Skin truly is treat for the senses and one of the most heartfelt and genuine performances to grace my ears in a long time. I can’t stop listening to it.

A rare 10/10.