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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!)
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