What I hate about Pitchforkmedia.com

[Guest Incandenza]

In another thread, I dismissed Pitchfork's cooler-than-thou attitude it took towards some of its reviews. The following review is an example of why I think Pitchfork is, by-and-large, full of shit:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yo La Tengo

And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside-Out

[Matador]

Rating: 8.1

Yo La Tengo have finally reached the upper echelon of society-- yuppies! Amidst our flaring economy, the cash-obsessed, egocentric "elite" have more cash to blow than ever before, and you know what that means: they're hip! Especially in major American cities, these wealthy professionals are flocking to upscale outlets such as Borders, Barnes and Noble and other places with lots of fancy faux-oak shelving to purchase their copies of And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside-Out.

 

But if there's anything we've learned about these socially-, culturally-, economically-, and apparently now, musically-conscious individuals is that they'll only flock to something for one of three reasons: 1) the hype is overwhelming, 2) it's the biggest, most expensive, highest-quality item of its kind, 3) Eric, the office trendsetter, recommended it. My question is, where does Yo La Tengo fit into this picture? A conspiracy theorist might conclude that some high-ranking Matador executive slipped a few copies of Inside-Out into the offices of large mortgage companies, advertising firms, and stockbrokers. Sadly, it's probably much simpler than that.

 

For years, Yo La Tengo have cranked out incredibly diverse albums with songs ranging from gentle western twang, to noise-fueled indie anthems, to lengthy, distortion-soaked instrumental epics. What could Sarah Jessica Parker types possibly want with the kind of speaker-rattling guitar buzz this Hoboken, New Jersey trio have delivered in the past? Uh... nothing, actually. That's why they're scooping up Inside-Out. Allow me to elaborate:

 

Yo La Tengo haven't changed their sound at all since their 1997 classic I Can Hear the Heart Beating as One, they've just eliminated the noise. "Upbeat" is no longer a recognized word for these three. Instead, this is an album filled with songs in the vein of I Can Hear the Heart's "Shadows," Electr-O-Pura's "The Hour Grows Late," and the droning seven-minute version of "Big Day Coming" off Painful. And nothing else.

 

So it makes sense when you consider the music-buying trends of the upper class. In the early 90's, they were all over Enigma, the Eagles, Billy Joel and Steely Dan. 10 years later, society's emphasis on remaining "with it" throughout your mid-30s has become overwhelming. From the stylish alternativeness of "Ally McBeal" and "Sex in the City" to the colorful chic of Ikea, the well-to-do's obsession with being fashionable has infiltrated every aspect of their lives.

 

While bland VH-1 genericism still rules over the majority of rich, white folks, they're catching on-- the Flaming Lips' The Soft Bulletin, the Cocteau Twins' Milk and Kisses, Beck's Mutations, and Mercury Rev's Deserter's Songs have all become big sellers in their demographic. Of course, this doesn't mean true music fans can't enjoy it, too. Oh, sure, we're used to a slightly different Yo La Tengo-- one that once burned through rockers like "From a Motel 6," "False Alarm," and "Sugarcube," and kept it loud even during the quiet tracks.

 

So, among Inside-Out's sea of gentle lullabies, it's easy to long for the stunning diversity this band is known for. However, it's clear they were shooting for something different this time around. After 15 years of recording the same kinds of music, you can't blame them for going out on a limb. In fact, we should trust them. After all, it's not like they don't know what they're doing.

 

The album's cover depicts quiet dusk in a common outer suburb. Electrical wires stretch over a standard one-story home. The backyard is crowded with pine trees. To the far right, almost out of the picture, a man stands at the end of the driveway, a spot of light beaming down around him from the darkening sky above. It's a traditional image of alien abduction that encapsulates the peaceful ringing of the record's gently-picked electric guitars and serene vocals. Of course, Yo La Tengo realize the humor in the picture-- the liner notes show the same man mowing crop circles into the grass of a nearby plain.

 

The cover proves the band's intentions behind the music-- they were aiming for a departure. And if this departure means turning the volume down and heading into Galaxie 500 territory, they've achieved their goal. Despite Inside-Out's tendency to fade to background music during the first couple of listens, the album features few songs in need of omission. Only the album's later material seems less inspired. "Madeline," at times, recalls the melody of the album's only driving, uptempo rock track, "Cherry Chapstick." The rhythmic instrumental "Tired Hippo," while an excellent fit on this record, could have been better served as a b-side. And of course, everyone's biggest gripe, the 17 minute-long closing track, "Night Falls on Hoboken," doesn't do them any justice when compared with their past epics.

 

Regardless, the first three-quarters of Inside-Out contains some of Yo La Tengo's best work to date. As a whole, however, it may be one of their less ear-catching records. If recorded by an aspiring young band, Inside-Out would be deemed the next big thing by all music press. However, people are used to Ira Kaplan's masterful electric assaults and the broad range of sounds that generally appear in spades on Yo La Tengo's LPs. Still, this record is among the best I've heard so far this year, and will likely remain that way.

 

-Ryan Schreiber

 

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Yep, half the review is spent trashing the people who would listen to this record, in spite of the fact that the review itself is very positive towards the record in question. Honestly, who gives a fuck who buys the goddamn album as long as people are being exposed to good music? Also, The Flaming Lips' The Soft Bulletin got a 10. Hey, that's great; I loved it, too. But the writer of that piece spends most of his time on how crappy his life is before devoting a couple of pithy pargraphs to the album itself. Jesus fucking Christ.

 

Where do I go for solid, consistent rock criticism? Rolling Stone is practically worthless, as the only seemingly knowledgable guy is David Fricke, while the rest of the writers are faceless dupes who have no individual voice and will simply toss of ***1/2 to any given record. Spin suffers from a similar problem; no one stands out. It might as well be the same, boring person writing everything.

 

Long gone are the days of the rock critic as artist, I suppose. Masturbatory fuckwads like Ryan Schreiber may fancy themselves in Lester Bangs' league, but they aren't. People like Schreiber may revel in their showy, look-at-me-ma-I'm-a-rock-critic theatrics that was big in the 70s, but they're missing something: Talent.

 

Dumb fuckers.

[Guest Kinetic]

I sort of agree. Ryan Pitchfork posted a review of the Andrew WK album today that was, by and large, right on the money. He gave it an 0.6, by the way. The only problem I had with that review is this whole weird "protector of all things indie" rant he goes on towards the end. And that's the problem with a lot of Pitchfork reviews: they seem to look at albums from their skewed indie-rock point of view, rather than as knowledgable fans of music in general. The cooler-than-thou thing doesn't bother me much. I'm pretty cool, as well.

 

I wouldn't put a lot of stock into anything Ryan Schreiber writes, anyway. Have you read his Pet Sounds review? It's blasphemous.

[Guest BottleRocket]

I give your post ***1/2.

 

But c'mon, every indie rocker worth his button badges knows that it's no fun to review records in a public forum if you can't be a pretentious snob about it.

 

It's the same reason we post on message boards.

[Guest Incandenza]

I wouldn't put a lot of stock into anything Ryan Schreiber writes, anyway.

 

As the above indicated, I don't put much stock in his views, but I was using him to show what I think is missing in rock criticism in general. I've read some good stuff on Pitchfork, but that Yo La Tengo piece was a perfect example of what I hate about them. Also, referencing the YLT review helped as a focal point. I liked And Nothing Turned Itself Inside-Out--hell, I loved it, so much so that I think it was one of the best albums of 2000--and it was better to use a shitty positive of review of an album I liked rather than a shitty negative one.

 

 

 

But c'mon, every indie rocker worth his button badges knows that it's no fun to review records in a public forum if you can't be a pretentious snob about it.

 

Yeah, Schreiber's high horse crap is nothing I hadn't seen nor heard before, but who says indie rock critics can't just be good writers who know about music? Bullshit like most of Schreiber's stuff is not needed.

[Guest Edwin MacPhisto]

I have the same problem with Pitchfork that I have with NME a lot of the time. Sometimes, the writing is very clever...and sometimes , the writing is very "clever." It often seems like all the reviews have to go through two or three editors, one of whom has the responsibility of turning names of the song titles into artsy puns, one who puts in something about indie cred, and perhaps my least favorite review crutch of all, the "compare it to something famous" trick. There are few things I hate more than reading a review of an album, finding out that it's reminiscent of the Velvet Underground, the Pixies, and some other critical saints, without hearing a damn thing about the album itself except for some stupid, stupid albums. The review of the Vines album on NME is a fine recent example of this crappy technique.

[Guest BottleRocket]

Unfortunately, in the year 2002, we really only have two options:

 

1. Read reviews from mainstream press outlets that either don't review the records we want to hear about or do so in a manner that lacks the musical knowledge and substance that we crave.

 

Or...

 

2. Read sites like Pitchfork that address the music we're interested in, but also focus so much on maintaining their own indie-cred that the reviews become muddied in a sea of extraneous bullshit.

 

Personally, nine times out of ten, I take option two and just deal. Because underneath all the posturing and horn-blowing, I usually agree with Pitchfork's numerical ratings and find, at the core, the reviews do tend to accurately depict the material in question. You just need to dig sometimes to get at it.

 

And unfortunately, I don't think there is a market right now for indie rock critics who are both good writers and who know about music. As strange as that may sound, I think that's the nature of the music industry beast.

 

The Rolling Stone reader doesn't want to know about Les Savy Fav and Joe Indie wants obscure details and vicious little quips that they can use to cement their scene status and impress their less cool friends.

[Guest Incandenza]

Magnet magazine--from what I've seen of it--is pretty solid, and they focus largely on the indie stuff. CMJ isn't bad for that sort of thing, either--sadly, their reviews rarely extend beyond a paragraph.

 

Personally, my favorite place for music reviews is The Onion AV Club. Outside of that, it's crap, man, crap.