I know I’m the only music writer that regularly trashes albums. It’s because I’m the only one writing with any regularity. If we all just undertook to write about albums that made us happy when and if they occurred, well, we’d have a lot less regular content. That means sometimes forcing myself to spit out 400 words of less-than-kind criticism for the sake of getting word out. I wish MONDO could be all sunshine and roses, but hell, if spring won’t even grace us with its presence why should I force myself to fake it?
That said, I actually dislike trashing great bands whose work is sometimes not up to my expectations. Take my Devotchka review: they’ve been called “the best band in America you’ve never heard of,” yet I just can’t find the impulse to toss their new disc on and dance around the room or cry into my pillow, or any reaction their earlier work has inspired in me. I’ve seen them perform and seen their earnest little faces, and I know that the last thing anyone wants to read about their work is conjecture about how they maybe didn’t do it very well.
On the upside, every snivelling review of mine I couple with one of our writers’ glowing orgasms-in-print about something they love dearly. Witness this week’s number-one fan spilling his venerable Iron Maiden tour knowledge out for your benefit. Now THERE’s a band that found a formula and stuck to it — and they’ve got the eight million screaming, devil-horn-throwing metalhead fans to back it up. You, too, dear reader, can help soften the blow of my venomous negativity, by writing me a love-letter-in-criticism of your own.
Next week: Spice Girls nostalgia take over!