If, as predicted, the Compact Disc, dies soon, this essay might be rendered meaningless.
Until then, though, here is a belated response to an article I read in the January/February 2011 edition of B.C. Musician.
B.C. Musician is based in the Okanagan and has been publishing about eight years. Most of the contributors are musicians, who share their experiences and pass on advice. Frequently, each new issue is based on a theme, such as the listing of summer outdoor festivals. As the Okanagan Valley isn’t a hive of music industry and B.C.based music publications seldom last more than two years, the mag deserves credit just for surviving. With all the challenges from the Internet facing any publication, this must be tough.
The article in question was “Critiquing The Hype Machine” by Barbara Bruederlin, which examines reviews and reviewers. It seemed naive, made a few faulty assumptions, and some of the opinions she solicited from various musicians indicated she/they didn’t know anything about the media. Not that Bruederlin et al can be blamed. The media has wrapped itself in a mystique and uses it as protection.
When I was through the article, my first question was, Why not ask a reviewer? Nowhere is anybody who reviews records asked about the records they review or what considerations go into choosing what records will get reviewed. I review records and am puzzled myself.
Reviews don’t sell records, at least not directly. Anybody can hear any record and make up their mind themselves. What a review serves to do now, though, is to create an awareness that the record exists. So much music is released in a year that even a brief recognition of the record’s existence is important. A well-written review, no matter how short, can pique curiosity, and, if the content is accurate, help both the buyer and the maker.
The Province prints hard copy reviews on Tuesday under the name Ultrasound. When Ultrasound started, it was a full page and included one main review, six mid-sized reviews (called midis) and six brief reviews (minis). Now it’s a half page of six midis, about 150 words in length each. That’s not a lot. With some records, putting an album in context can be 150 words. With others, the record might be so ordinary that 150 words is a stretch.
In the past couple of years, reviews have gone online. That’s offered some relief as in theory all reviews are printed, not just six, and they can be more than 150 words. The latest wrinkle is that the records chosen for the hard copy have tended to have been plucked from the wire service, not written by Stu, John nor I. I’m speculating that these reviews are more timely. Tuesday is the official release day of most records released by the major labels, Universal, Warners, Capitol/EMI and Sony/RCA.
So, records arrive the weekend before release, are reviewed immediately and The Province runs them Tuesday. There is something wrong with this. In the interest of being timely, for what is a newspaper if not timely, major releases might be reviewed based on a first impression. First impressions can be wrong, and often a record reveals itself over a period of time. What sounded great doesn’t hold up on repeated listening. Conversely, what at first seemed unremarkable, shows more subtle strength. Unfortunately, even a record that was released the week before is regarded as old news. The classic example is The Rolling Stones’ Exile On Main Street. It was regarded as a sprawling, sloppy, badly produced record when released forty years ago, now it’s frequently cited as The Stones’ masterpiece. Newspapers don’t have forty years to deliberate. The emphasis is on the now. It might be fun to revisit such albums to see how they’ve weathered, though.
Another question is, what records to review? The priority is usually given to major new releases. Thus, if Madonna has a new record, it’ll be reviewed and probably be hard copy. Madonna doesn’t need another review as she probably has three thousand of them already and her fans are going to buy her new record anyway, but The Province has to publish a review. It wouldn’t be doing its job, otherwise. Madonna, then, has one of the six midis available. That leaves five spaces and these might go to Kanye West or Taylor Swift or Lady Gaga or any other familiar name. There might be one space left for a locally made independent album, but which one? I usually review local indies and get approximately 250–300 a year, which is a small fraction of what’s out there. I might listen to all of them, but there is no way to print a review of every record and some of them are a struggle to review. It’s not that these are badly made records, as everyone seems to know what a record should sound like, but a lot of them go nowhere and are unremarkable.
Having decided what records to review, there are a few other considerations. Some time ago, I concluded that negative reviews serve no purpose. They’re fun to write. They’re an opportunity to show some teeth, flash the claws and possibly invest a little snide wit. I’ve even written one word reviews, funny, I hope, but nasty. However, if you’ve only got six spaces per week, it’s more productive to tell readers about good records that they should hear. A negative review means one less slot for records that are commendable. Besides, one word reviews leave a huge hole that looks bad on a newspaper page.
Reviewing a local indie requires further consideration. If Madonna’s newie isn’t good, and the review says as much, there is an element of anonymity. The three thousandth review probably means nothing to her and won’t deter the fans. The local indie record review is more personal. I strive to find something positive to say and hope the criticism is constructive. The act actually can get something out of this that it can use, possibly when it comes to making the next record. The local is like a neighbour and possibly a positive review is the start of a blossoming relationship. The local has to live with a review, good or bad, because friends will comment on it and word of mouth will get around. Good words, rather than bad.
Nickelback played at half time and the world stayed on its axis.
What was supposed to happen, something as cataclysmic as the gulf oil spill?
It was only rock and roll. Maybe not everybody’s idea of good rock and roll, but nothing damaging.
I didn’t hear the band’s half time few songs at the Detroit Tigers-Green Bay Packers’s game, but the set at Sunday, November 27’s Grey Cup showdown between B.C. Lions and the Winnipeg Blue Bombers at B.C. Place was inoffensive. Nothing to get twisted over.
The Detroit fans who beforehand signed an anti-Nickelback petition, all 55,000 of them, had the bigger beef than those B.C. fans of Vancouver, Nickelback’s adopted home, who hardly made a fuss. One Detroit Twitter comment spoke for the others, “the people of Detroit have suffered enough.” In Vancouver, there was all but silence.
Many of the people who signed the petition wanted to know why Nickelback was chosen over Motown acts or veteran rockers.
So, let’s speculate.
Motown Records, the independent label that put Detroit on the map as “the sound of young America” with classic record after classic, from My Girl to Reach Out, has been in Los Angeles more than 40 years. Most of the acts that were the sound of young America are no longer with Motown. Some are dead.
A tribute to the original Motown would be ghostly if not ghastly and does anyone know what Motown means these days?
Each of the rockers that made Detroit a bastion of hard, uncompromising rock can be dismissed, Bob Seger possibly being the exception. MC 5, too left wing.. Iggy And The Stooges? Too fucked up. Ted Nugent? Too right wing. Mitch Ryder? Oldies circuit. White Stripes? Broken up. Alice Cooper? Before Detroit became the band’s hometown, it was based in Phoenix.
Seger becomes the logical choice. He currently has a double CD of his hits and a couple of EMI reissues of two of his biggest albums. It would have been timely if he did play. Maybe he was on tour. Maybe he declined. Maybe he wasn’t asked.
Nickelback was . Probably had no idea it was walking into controversy.
Not that leader Chad Kroeger is blind and deaf to adversity. As soon as it became successful, Nickelback had its critics. Kroeger and Nickelback know this, but sell records, sell concert tickets and garner industry awards. To a band that has sold millions, a petition of 55,000 is relatively meaningless. Some people don’t like Nickelback. So what?
It would be more worrisome if there was a benign acceptance of Nickelback.
If everybody hated Nickelback, there’d be no discussion.
In short, Nickelback must be doing something right to cause such a division and that is good,
It’s cause for a personal reevaluation of what we want from rock.
For Nickelback’s critics the band is shallow and doesn’t offer much. For the many who are fans, Nickelback offers enough.
The problem is, what does “enough” mean?
When the band has had its day, will selling records be enough? As it’s been noted before, just because you sell a lot of hamburgers doesn’t mean you make a great hamburger. Quantity over quality.
That maybe is what Nickelback’s legacy will be. No legacy at all.
It won’t have been an influence. Not like other half-time performers (who, admittedly, played the more prestigious Superbowl) such as The Who, Rolling Stones, Prince or Paul McCartney. By comparison, Nickelback is anonymous and meaningless.
Another reason for the anti-Nickelback faction’s loud protest is that Nickelback has become successful without media help. It stubbornly believed in itself, became successful because of such bullheadedness, and sees no reason to deviate from the course it’s set for itself.
It is, then, a people’s band.
It sells records in spite of being scorned for being unfashionable or unhip.
There is an entire history of people’s bands such as Tommy James And The Shondells or Three Dog Night, who were regarded as commercial, a dirty word in the late 60s and through the 70s. The one that springs instantly to mind as the standout example of the people’s band is Grand Funk Railroad, who were regarded as being worse than commercial; they were a hype. Grand Funk wasn’t asked to play the Detroit game either, despite being from Flint, Michigan.
Grand Funk Railroad’s music was blunt and simplistic, more so than Nickelback’s, and definitely a product of the time. The trio had the worst reviews of any band. Some were cruel. Some were unfair. Some perpetuated myths. Grand Funk went on selling records, only later in its original incarnation trying to appease its critics, which was a losing cause. As a people’s band, Nickelback might have its enemies, but right now is having the last laugh. One day, the laughter will stop, but there is a feeling that this will be Kroeger.s decision.
At last, after 45 years, the listener can make up their own mind.
Is Smile by the Beach Boys a work of genius or did it deserve to be buried?
The Smile Sessions box is massive. Five CDs, a double vinyl album, two 7” singles, a poster replicating the Smile album cover, a photo booklet and testimonials by the surviving Beach Boys in a hard cover book that also includes essays.
At the centre of Smile are 49 minutes of music and Brian Wilson.
After 1966’s Pet Sounds, a remarkable coming of age statement that didn’t sell, Wilson was being hailed as a genius. He was only 24 years old but had clear ideas where he wanted to take his music. Wilson rebounded from the disappointing failure of Pet Sounds with the six month marathon that was “Good Vibrations,” The Beach Boys’ biggest success.
He stayed at home, writing and producing music while the other Beach Boys — Al Jardine, Mike Love, Bruce Johnston, Carl and Dennis Wilson — toured.
They came home to a Wilson who had teamed with lyricist Van Dyke Parks and a bunch of recorded fragments of which they couldn’t make sense.
Meanwhile, a sensitive, delicately-balanced Brian was falling apart. Love, for one, didn’t like Parks’ lyrics, didn’t understand them to sing them. The others, alarmed by the tanking of Pet Sounds, feared that Brian Wilson was messing up a good thing. They wanted songs about cars and girls and summer nights, not dove-nested towers or columnated ruins domino.
That resistance and other factors led to Wilson breaking down and the scrapping of Smile.
Over the years, versions of Smile leaked out, various songs showed up on later Beach Boys albums, facsimiles were bootlegged, and Smile achieved a mythic status. The great lost album.
In 2004, Wilson and his incredible (and incredibly devoted) backing band reconstructed Smile. Great as the resulting record was, as Brian Wilson notes, “People loved what me and my band had done but it made ‘em want to hear all the original recordings.”
So here they are. Having Smile is enough. The additional discs of the Smile sessions are fascinating though possibly too much of a good thing. Does anyone need 33 different excerpts from “Heroes And Villains? Twenty-four variations of Good Vibrations?
The completist does and demands it. At the same time, it’s possible to learn how each song developed, how Brian Wilson worked in the studio and possibly to appreciate how driven he was.
The last is hard. It’s why an engineer or producer can hear 100 takes of the same movement until he hears what he alone hears. With the Smile Sessions we get close to hearing what Brian Wilson was hearing. It feels like a privilege
It also feels like entering a time tunnel. For what might have been regarded as avant garde then isn’t now. What would have been a challenge in 1966 or 67 is dated now.
The humour that was important to Brian Wilson was corny then, Cornier now. Then again, it was one of The Beach Boys’ endearing qualities.
Seeing Smile exposed is like solving a mystery that might have been better left as a mystery.
Having the proof diminishes a myth that had grown larger than the Smile Sessions possibly can be.
The listener can make up their own mind.