Christgau a shit

Christgau likes jazz.

what kind of Jazz?

I like almost every reviewer, even Scaruffi.

It's not that I always agree with them, it's that I enjoy comparing their tastes with mine and it's interesting learning how they hear the music differently.

Ian Cohen gives me cancer though

Good jazz, not Kenny G. He said he didn't write that much about jazz because he doesn't know enough about music theory/composition.

>he just likes his rock to be rock

The problem is faggy critics like Bangs and Christgau declaring that they alone know what real rock-and-roll is and that there's only one correct way to play it.

christgau gave bitches brew and souljaboytellem.com both an A-

I don't disagree, you do sound a tab butthurt though.

*tad

He's not always wrong.

Pieces of Eight [A&M, 1978]

Wanna know why Starcastle are heavying it up? They want to go platinum just like Styx. Fortunately they haven't yet gotten around to the cathedral organ. C-

Dismisaing mucore with a scissor jpeg is as based as you can get

Guys like Scaruffi, Fantano, Bangs, Pitchfork, etc. are fine because they at least spend a lot of time explaining what it is they like/dislike about the music that they are communicating about. That's actually close to what criticism is, and what criticism is supposed to be.

Christgau though? Dude has just a sentence followed by his ranking score.

Ranking systems taking precedence over actual substantive criticism is what really ruined music criticism. Christgau is the main person that made that sense of elitist taste based just on ranking rather than critical analysis a big thing in music. It has affected everything from metal culture having a sense of faux elitism to the kind of shitposting you'll see from the average Cred Forums poster everyday.

I really fucking wish Christgau never existed or at least Bangs never died whichever would make Christgau feel less of an authority in any way, shape, or form.

Dizzy Up The Girl [Warner Bros., 1998] *bomb*

I'm almost certain he is the ONLY critic to give Soulja a positive review. (Correct me if I'm wrong).

On Avery Island [Merge, 1996] :(

In The Aeroplane Over The Sea [Merge, 1998] :(

I don't particularly like any of them. There was a time where I found there to be enough interesting stuff still to read in music writing, but once I became really acquainted with it, I realized just how much I diverge from them on a lot of key matters, and how much their views - especially today - are informed by theory that I think is toxic for culture and the arts. Which Harold Bloom (an actual good critic) has done as good a job of calling out as anyone (basically, reducing everything to identity or capitalist critique... Bloom calls this the School of Resentment).

>and how much their views - especially today - are informed by theory that I think is toxic for culture and the arts

Like I said,

>an esteemed music critic on this board unironically uses the term "haters"

kill me

Music critics are shit. Scaruffi is especially shit

Yeah, those 'real rock' critics were a good example of this. These bookish cosmopolitan nerd types who found punk to be more compatible with the communistic sensibilities they picked up in college that made them feel more intellectual and then championing it in opposition to the 'knuckle-dragging' metal bands etc.

Which is the big hypocrisy of these guys, they always use these convoluted political reasons for which styles they deem superior, but really it comes down to simply they themselves, as bespectacled smirking nerds, wanting to feel superior to working class people.

Audioslave [Interscope, 2002] *bomb*

Out of Exile [Interscope, 2005] *bomb*

Americana [Columbia, 1998]
Four or five years late, they make selling out seem both easy! (unlike the major-label labor Ixnay on the Hombre) and fun! (unlike the fluke smash Smash). A dozen or two bpm faster than when they caught Green Day's punk wave, they sound like a Bad Religion whose catchy drone is at long last unencumbered by any message deeper than "The truth about the world is that crime does pay"--which, to their credit, makes them indignant--or, more generally, that "The Kids Aren't Alright." This truth they explore as fully as--but, as is only fitting given their relatively privileged upbringing, less solemnly than--any gangsta. Only on the title track do they get grandiose. And while keeping it light keeps them on the right side of their frat-boy base, it also makes the fuckups they mock and mourn seem all the more hurtful. A-

Almost forgot this one.

>Pinups higher than Diamond Dogs
>Young Americans not an A
>Low and Heroes only a B
>giving NLMD a fucking C while bombing all of his 90s stuff
>Heathen is a C

Just. No.

Here's the pic I was too dumb too attach.

lol, what kind of MUSIC critique is that?

what does it have to do with anything?

why are these faggot four-eyed types so fucking insufferably obsessed with critiquing 'message'?

...and judging said message by some arbitrary 'critic' morality that has absolutely no value or basis in anything?

who the fuck ARE these fags?

I love Christgau. The fact that most of mu seems to hate him makes me like him even more.

Christgau basically said he doesn't like metal because the metal audience reminds him of his old enemies from high school.

yeah, he continually says this. practically in every metal review.

Master of Reality [Warner Bros., 1971]

As an increasingly regretful spearhead of the great Grand Funk Railroad switch three years ago, in which the critics defined Grand Funk as a good ol' fashioned white boy blues band, even though I knew of no critic, myself included, who actually played the records. Grand Funk are American--dull. Black Sabbath are English--dull and decadent. I don't care how many rebels and incipient groovers are buying, I don't even care if the band actually believes their own Christian/liberal/Satanist muck. This is a dimwitted, amoral exploitation.

This but with scaruffi

I was never an Elvis Presley fan when I was a kid. In fact, I couldn't stand him. As it happened, I heard "Don't Be Cruel" three or four times before I learned Elvis was singing it, and once I had admitted to myself that I was hooked on that song, it was no real sacrifice to extend my reluctant enthusiasm to "All Shook Up." But I never understood the excitement over "Heartbreak Hotel"--I considered the Stan Freberg parody exceedingly witty--and refused to even listen to "Hound Dog" or "Love Me Tender." Can it be that I was the only American under age sixteen who wasn't shaken by that seismic pelvic power? Bob Dylan lived for Elvis, and I thought he was just another greaseball.

Of course, he really was a greaseball, which was why I didn't like him--he reminded me of every rock who ever threatened to beat me up. All of his musical contemporaries were faintly comic, and most of them were black. They had no real connection to me. I loved Jerry Lee Lewis's records, but I wasn't really shocked, much less inspired, when he married a cousin who was younger than I was--that was the kind of thing crazy people from Louisiana did--and I laughed and laughed the first time I saw Fats Domino on television, because he was wearing what looked like high-top basketball sneakers, dazzling white, with white crepe soles an inch thick. Elvis was different. Like a lot of straight and scared-shitless adolescent males, I must have been jealous of his effect on girls, and perhaps I gained some cachet in my own mind by dissenting from such blanket popularity. But it was simpler than that. He was real, almost like guys I knew, and he frightened me a little.

Master of Reality [Warner Bros., 1971]

As an increasingly regretful spearhead of the great Grand Funk Railroad switch three years ago, in which the critics defined Grand Funk as a good ol' fashioned white boy blues band, even though I knew of no critic, myself included, who actually played the records. Grand Funk are American--dull. Black Sabbath are English--dull and decadent. I don't care how many rebels and incipient groovers are buying, I don't even care if the band actually believes their own Christian/liberal/Satanist muck. This is a dimwitted, amoral exploitation. D+

inb4 ersatz shit

Master of Puppets [Elektra, 1986]

I feel a distinct generation gap between myself and this music, not because my weary bones can't take its power and speed, but because I was born far too early to have had my dendrites rewired by progressive radio. The speed and momentum of this band can be impressive, and like most fast metal bands (as well as some sludge metal), they seem to have acceptable political motivations--antiwar, anti-conformity, even anti-coke. Fine. The problem is that the revolutionary heroes I envision aren't male chauvinists too naive to know better, they're not Arnold Schwarzenegger as Conan the Barbarian, all flowing hair and huge pecs. That's the image this music conjures up, and I am no more entitled to feel heroic from listening to it than I would the 1812 Overture. B-

people like this should not be allowed to listen to music, let alone write about it.

NERD!!

God, what an obnoxious asshole.

This Was [Island, 1969]

Ringmaster Ian Anderson has come up with a unique concept that embodies the worst of Arthur Brown, Roland Kirk, and your local G.O. blues band. I find his success very depressing indeed. C-

Stand Up [Island, 1969]

Fans of the group think it's a great album. I am not a fan of the group. I think it is an adequate album. B-

You are not that subtle my shitposting troll friend
>inb4 you answer some shit like "oh, your disregard different opinions as trolling yada yada"

Whitesnake [Geffen, 1987]

The attraction of this veteran pop-metal has got to be total predictability. The glistening solos, the surging crescendos, the familiar macho love rhymes, the tunes you can hum before the verse is over--not one heard before, yet every one somehow known. Who cares if they're an obscure nine-year-old vehicle for the guy who took over Deep Purple's vocal chores five years before that? Rock and roll's ninth or tenth "generation" of terrified high-school boys can call them their own. And may they pass from the ether before the eleven-year-olds who are just now sprouting pubic hair claim their MTV. D+

Holy fuck this is autism to the 11, now i know why so many /mutants suck his dick

>He has different opinions
Who cares. I disagree with Christgau as much as I agree with him, maybe even more. What I appreciate about Christgau is that he has a distinct, frequently very funny voice. He offers his basic thoughts--however distilled to witticism--and ends it.

I'm glad all critics don't do or try to do what Christgau does. But on some level I appreciate that he's here.

Grand Funk [Capitol, 1969]

This group is getting attention apparently because they play faster than Iron Butterfly. That's a start, I suppose. Me, I saw them in Detroit before I knew any of this. I found myself enjoying them for 10 minutes, tolerating them for 15, and hating them for 45. This LP, their second, isn't as good as that performance. C-

...And Justice For All [Elektra, 1988]

Problem isn't that it's more self-conscious than Puppets, which is inevitable when your stock in trade is compositions rather than songs. Problem is that it's also longer than Puppets, which is inevitable when your stock in trade is compositions rather than songs. Just ask Yes. C+

Definitely Maybe [Creation, 1994]

Sixties schmixties. Back when they were a tribute band, they were the Diamond Dogs ("Rock 'n Roll Star", "Supersonic"). **

>jazz because he doesn't know enough about music theory/composition.
sounds as if he just wants to like jazz, for the cred, but doesn't.
if you have to justify, you'll never know.

Back In Black [Atlantic, 1980]

Replacing Aerosmith as the band of choice among heavy machinery-loving primitives, these Aussies are a little too archetypical for my taste. Angus Young does come up with some killer riffs, although not as often as a refined person like myself would hope, and newly-recruited singer Brian Johnson sings like he has a cattle prod in his scrotum, just the thing for fans who can't determine if their newfound testosterone is agony or ecstasy. Songs like "Given The Dog A Bone (sic)" and "Let Me Put My Love Into You" contain all the unimaginative sexual acts you'd imagine, while "What Do You Do For Money, Honey" has fewer answers than the average secretary would prefer. My sister is glad they don't write poetry, and part of me shares that sentiment. Brothers are more deeply implicated in these matters. B-

Young Kwon? does he mean J Kwon?
It's painful to think a grown man spent time thinking about and writing that, but a job is a job, I suppose.

Tidal [Columbia, 1996] :(

>Angus Young does come up with some killer riffs, although not as often as a refined person like myself would hope

does this twerp hear himself?

Fully agree

lol!
HFW

>just the thing for fans who can't determine if their newfound testosterone is agony or ecstasy.
Heh.

You Light Up My Life [Warner Bros., 1977]

Who cares if the single sold 7 million, y'know what I'm saying? Trendsetters don't buy singles. Smart people like you and me don't buy singles. But now I hear the _album_ has gone platinum? D+

Superstar Car Wash [Metal Blade, 1993] :(

A Boy Named Goo [Metal Blade, 1995] :(

Dizzy Up The Girl [Warner Bros., 1998] *bomb*

Xgau reviews: "As a self-regarding smart person..."

Load [Elektra, 1996]

The good thing about being old is that I'm neither wired to like metal nor tempted to fake it. Just as I suspected, these Johnny-come-latelies-meet-the-new-boss-same-as-the-old-boss can no more do grunge than they can double-ledger bookkeeping. Grunge simply isn't their meter. So regardless of what riff neatniks think, this is just a metal album with the songs shortened and the tempos slowed, which is good because it concentrates their chops, and bad because it also means more singing, which they can't. C+

Come In And Burn [DreamWorks, 1997]

Success doesn't suit this drug addict, who will only quit caffeine when they synthesize rage itself. As someone who enjoyed Rollins' spoken word twofer "The Boxed Life", which recalls a lab assistant's job among other homely pursuits, it should come as no surprise that this thrash-and-churn is his metalest metal yet. It comes as a bigger surprise that Spielberg and Katzenberg decided to make him their flagship rocker--for all his corporate clout and cult cred, he was off the charts in a couple of weeks. As pathetic as it is for aging Spinal Taps to fabricate an adolescent rage they remember mostly from groupies and fan mail, it's even more pathetic never to feel anything else. C-

The Red Hot Chili Peppers [EMI America, 1984]

As minstrelsy goes, this is good-hearted stuff (and as minstrelsy, it had better be). The reason it doesn't quite come off isn't that it's good-hearted, either: the band is outrageous enough, though probably not the way it thinks it is. Perhaps there's a clue in this mysterious observation from spokesperson Flea: "Grandmaster Flash and Kurtis Blow have great raps, but not that great music with it." In a bassist, that's serious delusion. B-

Frampton Comes Alive! [Atlantic, 1976]

Alright, alright, you win, Peter. I'll review your stupid album--it's only been in the top 20 all year. Now will you please go away? C+

Walter Murphy and the Big Apple Band [Private Stock, 1977]

What a disappointment. I was hoping for disco versions of "Claire de Lune", "Fur Elise", and three Brandenberg concertii and what do I get but eight songs by Walter Murphy? Beethoven made great schlock, transcendent schlock even, but you, Walter, you just make schlock. D+

>Beethoven made great schlock
What did he mean by this?

Chicago: Live At Carnegie Hall [Columbia, 1971]

I'm not claiming to have actually listened to this four-disc set--you think I'm a nut? But an event this big is too monumental to ignore and Chicago is a C minus group if ever I heard one. Furthering my suspicions is the packaging--the shrink wrap fits so loosely that unsuspecting customers buying it for their girlfriends as a Christmas gift will think they have a review copy, and the lack of sleeve liners means that the only way to avoid scratching these plastic documents is to put the whole shebang out on the coffee table and never touch it again. C-

Street-Legal [Columbia, 1978]

Inveterate rock and rollers learn to find charm in boastful, secretly girl-shy adolescents, but boozy-voiced misogynists in their late thirties are a straight drag. This divorcée sounds overripe, too in love with his own self-generated misery to break through the leaden tempos that oppress his melodies, devoid not just of humor but of lightness--unless, that is, he intends his Neil Diamond masquerade as a joke. Because he's too shrewd to put his heart into genuine corn, and because his idea of a tricky arrangement is to add horns or chicks to simplistic verse-and-chorus abcb structures, a joke is what it is. But since he still commands remnants of authority, the joke is sour indeed. C+

Smells Like Children [Nothing/Interscope, 1995]

Unmitigated consumer fraud--a mess of instrumentals, covers, and remixes designed to exploit its well-publicized tour, genderfuck cover art, titillating titles, and parental warning label. The lyrics to "S****y Chicken Gang Bang" are nonexistent, those to "Everlasting C***sucker" incomprehensible. Only "F*** Frankie," a spoken-word number in which a female feigning sexual ecstasy reveals that it isn't "Fool Frankie" or "Fire Frankie" or "Fast Frankie" or for that matter "Fist Frankie," delivers what it promises. It's easily the best thing on the record. D+

I like him.

Post the ween review

How do you understand his rating system?

American Idiot [Reprise, 2004]

If you're wondering what this concept album means, don't labor over the lyric booklet. As Billie Joe knows even if he doesn't come out and say it--he doesn't come out and say lots of obvious stuff--this is a visual culture. So examine the cover. That red grenade in the upraised fist? It's also a heart--a bleeding heart. Which he heaves as if it'll explode, only it won't, because he doesn't have what it takes to pull the pin. The emotional travails of two clueless punks--one passive, one aggressive, both projections of the auteur--stand in for the sociopolitical content that the vague references to Bush, Schwarzenegger, and war (not any special war, just war) are thought to indicate. There's no economics, no race, hardly any compassion. Joe name-checks America as if his hometown of Berkeley was in the middle of it, then name-checks Jesus as if he's never met anyone who's attended church. And to lend his maunderings rock grandeur, he ties them together with devices that sunk under their own weight back when the Who invented them. Sole rhetorical coup: makes being called a "faggot" something to aspire to, which in this terrible time it is. C+

Korn [Epic/Immortal, 1995]

The cover depicts a frightened little girl peering up from a swing at a hook-handed rapist whose huge shadow slants across her space; the girl's shadow seems to hang from the gallows-shaped K of the band logo. They love this image, exploit it in every trade ad as Sony flogs their death-industrial into its second year. They sing about child abuse, too--guess what, they're agin it. But if their name isn't short for kiddie porn, they should insist on a video where they get eaten by giant chickens. C-

>isaac hayes
marry me

Foreigner [Atlantic, 1977]
You've heard of Beatlemania? I propose Xenophobia. C

Queen II [Elektra, 1974]
Wimpoid royaloid heavoid android void. C-

( ) [MCA, 2002]
?_;@$.is C

In the Court of the Crimson King [Atlantic, 1969]
The plus is because Peter Townshend likes it. This can also be said of The Crazy World of Arthur Brown. Beware the forthcoming hype--this is ersatz shit. D+

>?_;@$.is C
what?

>All of the lyrics on ( ) are sung in Vonlenska, also known as Hopelandic, a constructed language without semantic meaning, technically glossolalia, which resembles the phonology of the Icelandic language. It has also been said that the listener is supposed to interpret their own meanings of the lyrics which can then be written in the blank pages in the album booklet.

The News of the World [Elektra, 1977]

In which the group who last winter brought you a $7.95 LP to boycott devotes one side to the wantonness of women and the other to the doomed to life futile rebelliousness of the poor saps (those saps!) (you saps!) who buy and listen. C-

Jazz [Elektra, 1978]

This isn't completely disgusting--Ry Cooder come back, all is forgiven--and "I Wanna Ride My Bicycle" is even kind of cute. Worth 10ccs--now stick a spoke or a pump in their ass. C+

Head Games [Atlantic, 1978]

I love rock-and-roll so much that I actually find myself getting off on "Hot Blooded", a typical piece of nookie-hating cockrock built around a verse-chord-riff change that's reminiscent of (gah) second generation Bad Company. Other than that, there's nothing else here to threaten their status as the world's dullest band. C+

Ten [Epic, 1991]

in life, misery begats art, in music, riffs work even better ("Once", "Even Flow"). **

honestly this is what invalidates every one of his reviews. i just don't understand how you can create a rating scale, decide what each number means in regards to judging different albums, and then unironically give spiderland, itcotck, and a bunch of other good albums D's while giving soulja boy a other shit albums A's

Through the Fire [Geffen, 1984]

Calm down, it's only corporate metal. No need to get upset at these four grizzled dildos. Still, you'd think their merger would at least produce a good name for a law firm. D+

Blood Sugar Sex Magik [Warner Bros., 1991]

they've grown up, they've learned to write, they've earned the right to be sex mystiks ("Give It Away", "Breaking The Girl") **

Who Are You [MCA, 1978]

Every time I listen carefully, I hear some new detail in Roger's singing or Pete's guitar or John's bass (not in Keith's drumming though). But I never learn anything new, and this is not my idea of fun rock-and-roll. It should be one or the other, if not both. B-

Frontiers [Columbia, 1983]

For those who truly thought the jig was up this time, I'll remind you of how much worse it could be--this top 10 album could be outselling Flashdance or Thriller or Pyromania. My suggestion is for Steve Perry to run as a moderate Republican from, say, Nebraska, where his oratory would garner excellent press, and then, having shed his video-game interests, ram the tape tax through. D+

Crime of the Century [A&M, 1974]

This is being called the the rock-and-roll of the future, which I find a depressing thought despite the amalgamation being a (moderately) smart one. "Bloody Well Right" demonstrates a gift for the killer hook, if you can overlook the song being an impassioned plea for complacency. Maybe if we ignore them, they'll go away. C+

His Queen reviews were always on point.

Pure Guava [Elektra, 1992]

It's to the half-credit of these Bucks County wise guys that the studio amenities of their major-label debut impel them toward fucked-up sounds, which come hard, rather than fucked-up songs, which they write without thinking (and how). But I don't buy the claim that they'll do anything for a laugh. Ever since they went on about pussy for nine minutes (good idea) in a Princey blues-minstrel drawl (bad one), I've assumed they were the kind of rec-room gigglefritzes who enjoy a good nigger joke when they're sure their audience is sophisticated enough to enjoy it. And to be perfectly honest, I don't hear one of those here. C+

Double Vision [Atlantic, 1979]

This isn't as sodden as you'd expect--these guys are pros and they adapt to the times by speeding up the music. I almost find myself enjoying some of these songs until I come into contact with the dumb woman haters doing the singing. These guys think punks are cynical and anti-life as they sing about how the world is all madness and lies and then proceed to rhyme "science" and "appliance" without intending a joke. C-

...

Breakfast in America [A&M, 1979]

I like a hooky album as well as the next fellow, so when I found that this one elicited random grunts of pleasure I looked forward to listening hard. But the lyrics turned out to be glib variations on the usual Star Romances trash, and in the absence of vocal personality (as opposed to accurate singing) and rhythmic thrust (as opposed to a beat) I'll wait until this material is covered by artists of emotional substance--Tavares, say, or the Doobie Brothers. C+

pretty good list

Soulja boy perfect encapsulates the time period, Christgau's review is 100% right

Christgau is just a stodgy hipster from the baby boom era who can't think outside the box far enough to consider that maybe some things that are different aren't bad.

Or maybe he should just stick to reviewing what he likes if he can't expand his horizons.

Christgau doesn't appreciate "arty" records too much. He's primarily a pop head and if you keep that in mind, he's one of the best.

Certainly one of the most influential music critics of all time, even more than Lester Bangs I'd argue. Even though Bangs is superior in nearly every way

Face Dances [Warner Bros., 1981]

Keith Moon's death seems to have freed Pete Townshend of his obsession with mortality and the band he created. His new sex songs are stylish and passionate--the strongest he's written in a decade. Problem is they sound forced coming from the aging pretty boy who mouths them. Which is a reminder that mortality catches up with pretty boys faster than the rest of us. B

Of course Bangs died in 1982; he never lived to see or review more modern stuff.

He likes jazz, he just thinks rock=pop and it shouldn't pretend to be high art.

>he fell for the jazz meme

It's Hard [Warner Bros., 1982]

For years, Pete Townshend's operatic pretensions were so transparent that I wagered his musical ideas would never catch up to his lyrical ones. And I was right--both became more prolix at the same rate. Between the synths, winding song structures, and book club poetry, this may be the nearest thing to classic awful English art rock since Genesis discovered funk. Best track--"Eminence Front", in which Pete Townshend discovers funk. Just in time. Bye. C-

I agree with his opinion on AC/DC, but the condescension in his review style is so off-putting. Critiquing a band on their merits or lack thereof is one thing, but insulting the listeners is another entirely.

...Baby One More Time [Jive, 1999]

Madonna next door ("Sometimes", "Soda Pop") **

This was spot-on, though. Even Roger Daltrey said that It's Hard was garbage and Eminence Front was the only song on there that should have ever seen the light of day.

Night in the Ruts [Columbia, 1979]

This one begins with a promising song about the band's career titled "No Surprize". Then they inch steadily closer to the dull tempos, flash guitar, and stupid cover versions of heavy metal orthodoxy. No surprize. C+

BB King [Subjects for Further Research, 1980s]

He's seldom been terrible, and when in 1978 he stopped trying for AM ballads and disco crossovers and moved on up to nightclub funk, he started making good albums again. There Must Be a Better World Somewhere (1981), anchored by Pretty Purdie with plenty of fine Hank Crawford sax and Dr. John piano, featured fine new songs from Dr. John and Doc Pomus. The voice was no longer exquisite and the licks might as well have been copyrighted, but for King, standard means classic. Then again, it also means predictable, and the only one of his well-made later albums I got into was Fantasy's 16 Original Big Hits, a reissue of Galaxie's 1968 best-of. Now that's classic.

Don't Call Me Mama Anymore [RCA Victor, 1973]

How about Fatso? D

LOL

Core [Atlantic, 1993]

Once you learn to tell them from the Stoned Tempo Pirates, the Stolen Pesto Pinenuts, the Gray-Templed Prelates, Temple of the Dog, Pearl Jam, and Wishbone Ash, you may decide that they're a halfway-decent hard rock act, until they're done serving up their best power chords and you realize that the type is "Sex Type Thing" and it's attached to a rape threat. They claim this is intended ironically, sort of like "Naked Sunday"'s sarcastic handshake with authority. But irony loses its teeth when the will to sex still powers your power chords. And if that's the excuse myself and MTV viewers suspect, then the whole band should catch AIDS and die. C+

Backless [RSO, 1978]

Whatever Eric isn't anymore--guitar genius, secret auteur, humanitarian, God--he's certainly king of the Tulsa sound, and here he contributes three new sleepy-time classics. All are listed on the cover sticker and none were written by Bob Dylan. One more and this would be creditable. B-

The Concept [Cotillion, 1978]

ioneering funk groups like P-Funk and the Commodores, manned by veteran musicians, largely stayed within the realm of existing black music styles. The younger ones however closer resemble third generation rock groups in concept. Unless you prefer Kansas to E&R, this is not a compliment. "Profound" lyrics such as "What is now will be forever" may as well grace the back of a Starcastle album. This is very much a Starcastle kind of band too, right down to the general derivativeness and pretensions to content. But that doesn't make Starcastle music. Still, if interesting sounds, production, and textures are your idea of music, then black is still beautiful. B-

Storm Front [Columbia, 1989]

Instead of going Broadway with his cautionary tales and cornball confessionals, he hires the man from Foreigner. And it makes no difference--even in arena mode he's a force of nature and bad taste. Granted, the best songs are the ones that least suit the mold--the tributes to Montauk and Leningrad, the lament for the working couple, the quiz from Junior Scholastic. And even the worst maintain a level of craft arenas know nothing of. B

Is "ersatz shit" the Cred Forums equivalent of "glib facsimile"?

>"As an intelligent type, I feel sexually threatened by the image of virile barbarians heavy metal conjures up"

Was Xgau one of the ORIGINAL KEKS?!

*C.UCKS?!

I like Christgau.

He hardly mentions what instruments are on an album, YOU the listener can already hear that if you wish.
Usually I pick up something new from his perspective, rather than throwing albums into the good or bad pile which is silly bullshit.
I'm mainly annoyed now with this conveyor belt criticism, these 'best of' lists and good-or-not-good opinions get views from the public but are woeful.

I really like his writing style even though I almost never agree with him, he's a cheeky cunt.

This is is why I like him.

this basically
he's the roger ebert of music criticism

why does he suck MIA's dick so hard?

M.I.A.: AIM (Interscope)
Nothing has made me happier in this horrendous moment than Maya Arulpragasam's loopy, simplistic fifth album. Fuck you if you think it's "lightweight" or "confusing" or "aimless" or "ho-hum"—it's the hard-earned proof of the happiness she's achieved after years of fretting about the asinine shaming of 2010's excellent Maya for the crime of following Kala, which was only the greatest album of the century. As no one notices, her sonorities, scales, and tune banks have never been more Asian—mostly East Asian, especially up top, although I'm partial to the uncredited oud-I-think on "Ali r u ok." That's one more signal of the self-acceptance enjoyed by this refugee on an album she says is about refugees, as is her damn right as someone who migrated/fled from London to Sri Lanka to India back to Sri Lanka back to London to—after absurd bureaucratic hoohah—the USA. Never a convincing intellectual, she makes a point of keeping these lyrics beyond basic—declaring "we" a trope, jumping on the byword "jump," riffing on every stupid bird rhyme she can think of. The recommended non-"deluxe" 12-track version ends with one called "Survivor," which like it or not she is. "Men are good, men are bad/And the war is never over," she notes. "Survivor, survivor/Who said it was easy?/Survivor, survivor/They can never stop we." Takeaway: bad shit being her heritage, she intends to enjoy herself however bad the shit gets, and so should we. A

Everyone Who Pretended to Like Me Is Gone [Startime International, 2002]
Just what we always wanted--Jonathan Fire*Eater grows up. Put some DreamWorks money into a studio, that was mature. Realized Radiohead was the greatest band in the world, brainy. Stopped playing so fast, hoo boy. And most important, switched vocalists from Nick Cave imitator to Rufus Wainwright imitator. Wainwright makes up better melodies with a dick in his mouth, and not only that, Cave has more literary ability. New York scene or (hint hint) no New York scene, DreamWorks isn't buying. C+

At least Christgau's sentences aren't as poorly written or as badly opinionated as pitchforks. I don't know how anyone can take that fucking website seriously when they rate everything on a scale of how memeworthy it is and write reviews so fucking poorly. It's like they're having a contest to see which one of their reviewers can sound the most like an undergraduate desperately trying to impress his stupid college friends.

I have never liked his reviews but I recently found out he hates Astral Weeks and now I full on despise the motherfucker

He's worth reading since he's a good writer and very often funny but like many music critics he doesn't actually enjoy music as such, he just fetishizes certain aesthetics and black people generally

marquee moon is one of my favorite albums and cristgau gave it an A+ or something but i wonder why he didn't pan it seeing as he pans other similar albums. and idk i just thought he'd find verlaine pretentious and dislike the length of the title track and the buildups and guitar solos