Classic Christgau Zings

"In books/And films/And in life/And in heaven/The sound of slaughter/As your body turns . . ."--no, I can't go on. I mean, why so glum, chum? Cheer up; look on the bright side. You got your contract, right? And your synthesizers, bet you'll have fun with them. Believe me, kid, it will pass.

But remember John Holmes: he who lives by the dick shall die by the dick.

He's now as likable as your once-rebellious and still-tolerant uncle who has the quirk of believing that OPEC was designed to ruin his air-conditioning business.

http://d29ci68ykuu27r.cloudfront.net/product/190X400/19282741.jpg

If you're too smart or knowledgeable for this young goof and his damn Grammys that Robyn wouldn't have won anyway, by all means enjoy your cool.

Brian Johnson sings like there's a cattle prod at his scrotum, just the thing for fans who can't decide whether their newfound testosterone is agony or ecstasy.

Dre degrades women every way he can think of, all of which involve his dick ("the whole eight," as this master of poetic license puts it).

Instead he's convinced me that I'll get off on a white r&b singer from Savile Row the same day I give up Jack Daniel's for sherry and join the Dartmouth Club.

Brian Peter George St. John le Baptiste de la Salle Phoenix, if anything.

I want to make a tape for all those zealots who claim a word processor will change my life.

Remember the immortal words of Chuck Berry: beware of middlebrows bearing electric guitars.

As the leader says, or intones, or even sings if you want to be polite: "(Keep Feeling) [dig those parentheses] Fascination."

she organizes freedom--how Scandinavian of her

I think I might appreciate the covers album Kicking Against the Pricks when face to face with terminal illness.

Eric Clapton: Journeyman [Duck/Reprise, 1989]
What did you expect him to call it--Hack?

The Whoa List:

Jeffrey Lewis: 12 Crass Songs [Rough Trade, 2008]
Drolly self-deprecating anti-folkie covers iconic anarcho-punk Purists for ultraleft analysis in musical form--that's just what this reeling world could use, you'd think. And indeed, it's not altogether stupid. But it's also hate-filled and hateful--not just the Crass, but second-generation beatnik Lewis, who like most hereditary bohemians was brought up to think he's better than normal people. However well he understands capitalist exploitation, his emotional response is stunted: "I hate the living dead and their work in factories/They go like sheep to their production lines." ("Like sheep"--what a cool image!) Historically, people in this economy have taken what they can get and had some fun in their spare time. They like Sarah Palin because they know she's as smart as Jeffrey Lewis and suspect they're not all that far behind themselves. C-

Stone Temple Pilots: 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 they're a halfway decent hard rock act. Unfortunately, sometime after they've set you up with their best power chords, you figure out the title is "Sex Type Thing" because it's attached to a rape threat. They claim this was intended as a critique, kind of like "Naked Sunday"'s sarcastic handshake with authority. But at best that means they should reconceive their aesthetic strategy--critiquewise, irony has no teeth when the will to sexual power still powers your power chords. And if it's merely the excuse MTV fans have reason to suspect, the whole band should catch AIDS and die. B-

Those who (claim to) expect them to improve on Gramsci maintain that this is where they turn bozo once and for all.

Ever hear the one about being so open-minded that when you lay down to sleep your brains fall out?

But when I realized that "Let's Work" was no metaphor--that it was the plutocrat importuning his lessers to "kill poverty" from the bootstraps up--somehow I stopped worrying whether his "life is trivialized." Your choice, mister--you live with it.

But now that Bernard is a full-fledged human being, we find out he's a slightly boring human being.

Put them down as 10cc, with a spoke, or a pump, up their ass.

If coming leaves your penis feeling that bad, fella, remember that they're not called narcotics for nothing

Though it's possible Jeff Tweedy's wife told him to stop being a pretentious tweet, it's more likely she just told him to stop ignoring her.

It's no surprise to be told that a lot of their ideas come from Eraserhead, but who wants to go see Eraserhead to make sure?

Those emo posers, how dare they?

Cyborgs can grate on the ears, and I bet they don't suck dick that good either.

Doherty makes a case for flat-on-your-ass alienation in an insane wartime culture. But please, don't go out with him. Kate Moss can fend for herself.

N.B.: if you're considering Montreal, which is certainly my favorite Canadian place, the ex-Texans and -Haitian here want to make clear that it's horribly cold.

To use the only noun in the hard lexicon that suggests normal human sensitivities, he was acting like a "faggot."

I admit that some of the tunes retain considerable nostalgic appeal, but there's no way I can get around it--Jim Morrison sounds like an asshole.

In a desperate attempt to market Ian McCulloch's crumpled shirts and skin problems (two of the most likable things about him, I'd say)

And now let me give it up to an I Love Music post by Pitchfork's Scott Plagenhoef: "off-kilter, upbeat guitar pop, with--in comparison to their peers--something singular about both their music (e.g. not just the touches of African pop but the willingness to use space and let the songs breathe a bit) and their lyrics (detail-heavy, expressive; too bad they're images of wealth instead of poverty, otherwise they'd be critical manna)." Right on, my brother.

the gloom merchants at Factory/Factus

Back when my hair was halfway down my back and my Lower East Side apartment cost $45 a month, I scoffed at hippie's insularity, self-righteousness, privilege, and half-assed analysis of the marketplace. And in the postpunk era I've been wont to ask, "Why so glum, chum?"

i am having trouble parsing that but it seems like a not-great sentiment expressed in a way that's kinda proud of itself

neoclassicist Strokes/Stripes guff

Only in Australia or some similar well-heeled backwater could an unknown art student write, direct, edit, and star in a wacko comedy that took place anywhere but in his own head.

That these silly middlebrow hacks should hang in long enough to become stars is the usual biz fable. That they should do so with danceable rock and roll that sounds smart in the background is one more sign that the world is coming to an end.

He never included that blurb in the published Consumer Guide, which makes sense because he was fucking wrong

What a cerebral band--if they keep on at this rate, they'll inspire more deep thinking than David Bowie and Henry Cow combined.

Bitch bitch bitch, bloat bloat bloat.

Not that "If the South Woulda Won" can be said to go against the Nashville grain--nobody really wants to go back to slavery, understand, but if that's the price of more hangings and no more foreign cars, we may have to bite the bullet. Anyway, Hank drops in a good word for Martin Luther King on the very next song. How much do these people want?

Not as stupid as they sound--but do they sound stupid.

Back when I was a young feller, we called these things hootenannies, only we thought they needed songs

I mean, is Eno really completely fascinated by banality?

You'll wonder: Is Zooey Deschanel homier than Feist, or just a good actress?

Lou sure is adept at figuring out new ways to shit on people.

Long-winded young wankers so insularly indie they're incomprehensible to anyone who hasn't been softened up by Wowee Zowee and the Meat Puppets

An active member of the Fraternal Order of Old Farts since birth

these cheesy media sluts want to Grow Musically

"666[bent downward arrow or else some emoji I'm too uncool to recognize]"

Open Your Eyes You Can Fly [Milestone, 1976]
Shut your mouth and maybe they'll let you land. C

But you need a lot of hooks to get away with being full of shit

The message being that only those ready to give up the transient pleasure of a good tune are ready to confront the meaninglessness of their neoliberal-capitalist lives

Patterns of culture have changed, and in a boutique economy, this shit, like all other shit, is probably here to stay.

Still an expert architect of musical spectacles, but... does anybody actually like the guy?

worthy of Eno at his most rhapsodically technopastoral

Sade for androids

But there are times when the Kiss-Lil Jon continuum is just right for clearing the sinuses or getting you to the next rest stop

David Bowie accomplished several things I wish he hadn't in the 70s, from briefly reinstating mime as a legitimate art form to permanently convincing Britons that their elitist nation was the chief locus of artistic sophistication in popular music.

Gary Numan--everywhere you turn these days, Gary Numan is sitting with the lights out, staring off into space.

I note as well that you are not from the United Kingdom, the spawning ground of the 1975 delusion.

The textures are nicer now, but whose aren't?

these boys like lotsa malaise with their mayonnaise

They weren't smokin' in that boys' room--just taking a quick dump.

At least the Cocteau Twins are eccentric. At least ELP were vulgarians.

We hate you you little smarty.

tunes, aarghh, tunes--please not more tunes

People consent to fascism because they think fascism will be more fun than this. They could be right.

the hope-addicts whiff both commerce and pretension

As pretentious goes, not stupid.

Billie Eilish PLUS HER BROTHER, THAT’S DEFINITELY A PARTNERSHIP

But Donald Fagen “happy/upbeat”? That pathological ironist? How???

All of these suck tbh.

lol

I almost didn't bring my down jacket for fear someone would knife me and the feathers would all fly out

All of these suck tbh.

Objectively... yeah, they're mostly awful.