Rock criticism might still be a viable organism, but it’s hard to tell: how do you know if something is moving on its own when people keep dragging it around and kicking it? Neal Pollack has devoted a whole novel to the proposition that writing about music is a pathetic waste of time (although writing a novel about writing about music apparently isn’t). In Jonathan Lethem’s new tome, The Fortress of Solitude, the unbearably self-loathing protagonist grows up to be a rock critic. There’s a new book by Lester Bangs, but he’s been dead longer than most of the downloading public has been alive. And don’t get me started on Jack Black.
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For its music guide, Zagat hired photographer, writer, and veteran tastemaker Pat Blashill to draw up a list of 2,050 records, including classical, jazz, show tunes, sound tracks and scores, and of course pop (with a surprisingly rich selection of hip-hop and electronica), and invited reviews through its Web site. The company claims 10,656 people submitted ballots, 59 percent of whom were men; the average age of respondents was 38.2, while the typical record collection included 516 titles. In other words, they have a better gender balance than the American Association of Professional Rock Critics, and they’re probably a little older. The guide provides no ethnic breakdown, but I have my suspicions about it.
Liz Phair, Exile in Guyville
“Everyone’s favorite indie ‘it’ girl proved that real talent is in having something to say” in a “blunt way” on her “ambitious” debut, a “bad” babe’s “bible” that came off like “a feminist shock to the system”; “basement production”, “empowering chick music” and Liz’s “life coalesced into a concept album of impeccable brilliance”, “capturing the poignancy behind modern promiscuity.”
There I go again: distinguishing between people who know that the “real” name of that record is The Beatles and people who call it what everyone else calls it. The Zagat Music Guide will provide hours of entertainment for those who enjoy cataloging the evidence of their superior taste: there’s only one Duke Ellington record, but two by Diana Krall? Louis Armstrong’s only entry is Hello, Dolly!? Rufus over Loudon is arguable, but Huey over Jerry Lee? Eno’s Before and After Science over Another Green World, or Judy Collins’s Wildflowers instead of In My Life? Only four records from Jamaica (Burning Spear, Jimmy Cliff, Marley, Marley), one from Brazil (Jobim, not counting Getz/Gilberto), and one from Africa (Cesaria Evora, not counting the Afro Celt Sound System, Deep Forest, Graceland, and Peter Gabriel)? Nothing at all by Pere Ubu, Jimmy Reed, Salt-N-Pepa, Kronos Quartet, Thin Lizzy, Grandmaster Flash, Charlie Patton, the Go Betweens, or Motorhead? This thing is a gas–it’s the anti-Guinness Book, guaranteed to start an argument every time you open it.
