This screencap doing the rounds, if genuine, exposes the utterly cynical way in which corporate mainstream music is promoted and “reviewed”.
Now I know I post a lot of glowing if not fanboyish reviews on this site. But at least I’ve actually heard the records before I write my reviews.
I’m not even remotely a fan of hip-hop or rap. But you don’t need to be to recognise this piece as hilariously ignorant pieces of music criticism I’ve read all year. Pro tip; if you want to make a serious critique of “modern music”, you do need to listen beyond top 40 radio if you want to be taken remotely seriously.
The Stool Pigeon Guide to Music Journalist Bullshit lists a lot of bad clichés that aspiring music writers really ought to avoid. Unfortunately there are one or two in there I have a horrible feeling I’ve used in the past. Oh dear.
Bastard lovechild — Is sex out of wedlock still considered edgy? So why would anyone still be writing that albums ‘sound like the bastard lovechild of X and Y musicians’? I mean, there’s a good chance your parents hadn’t gotten round to tying the knot by the time you were conceived. But so what? It doesn’t make you a latter-day Edmund from King Lear. Hell, it doesn’t even make you Jon Snow off Game Of Thrones.
Uh-oh. I’ve used that one. But not in a musical context; I think I described American conservatism as the bastard love-child of Cyrus Schofield and Ayn Rand. The wingnuts are probably still capable of being offended at being called bastard love children. So I’ll let that one stand.
Songstress — As opposed to what, ‘songster’? Reading between the lines, this faintly kinky usage is a subliminal reflection of male music hacks’ rampant castration fear. See also: chanteuse
If I dared used such a word, I can guarantee that the songstresses or chanteuses would lynch me.
Sophomore — Ridiculous, US collegiate term used as a stand-in for “second” when describing albums, e.g. “The Stone Roses’ second album The Sophomore Coming was a let-down for many”.
If there is one word guaranteed to set my teeth on edge in a review, it’s this one. It implies that either the reviewer’s frame of reference doesn’t extend beyond American student-indie, or they’re a semi-literate hack who doens’t even know the meaning of the clichés they parrot. Either way it’s strong indication not to take the writer’s opinions seriously.
So, if Anne-Marie Helder ever releases a follow-up to “The Contact”, I had better not write “The chanteuse’ sophomore album is the bastard love-child of…”
There are lots of other bad ones in that list, and the whole thing is worth reading. What really bad music writing clichés do you think really need to die?
Spot the difference between this review:
Prog rock is hip again, apparently, although “hip” is not how you would describe the masses of white, middle-aged men gathered here tonight. But who’s to say they aren’t? Balding pates and comfort-fit jeans could have become the very pinnacle of fashion and then fallen from favour in the time it took for this concert to run its course, and we would have been none the wiser. Rush play for a very, very long time. This is due in no small part to the fact that the ageing Canadian trio are essentially their own support act. They play two full concert-length sets, with an intermission, presumably to give you the chance to phone relatives and loved ones worried about your extended absence
And this one:
The progressive rock genre is gradually becoming hip again, although “hip” is not how you would describe the hordes of white, middle-aged men gathered here tonight. But who’s to say they aren’t hip? Balding pates, comfort-fit jeans and beer bellies could become the very pinnacle of fashion in 2008.
Aylesbury’s finest prog-rockers, Marillion play for a very long time. This is due in no small part to the fact that the group are essentially their own support act. They play two sets, with an intermission, presumably to give you the chance to phone relatives and loved ones worried about your extended absence.
Yep, two completely different gigs by two completely different bands, same word-for-word hack clichés. And you still wonder why I hold music journalists in contempt?