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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, the people’s band

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.

The Smile Sessions

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.

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