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Hi, guys. Just wanted to wish you congratulations on your first birthday. One year and still going strong. Thanks for all the interviews and reviews and such. Hoping for many more. Keep up the good work. John T. Thanks John. To celebrate, the staff is retiring to the underground lair for a weekend and making prank phone calls to the white house using stolen calling cards. After reading your online bonus article, Mat Probasco's Review of Reviews, I felt compelled to give you my two cents. First of all, I find Mat's thinly veiled attempt to protect the innocent silly and his idea of reviewing reviews unfunny as it's [sic] pertains to his idea of irony. Although, I have to admit he makes a good point, I find the use of poop jokes banal and unsophisticated. He himself believes that you should be a master in your craft if you are going to kick the legs out from under someone else's, but doesn't follow his own advice. Probasco's decision to head towards the colon as an analogy puts an unflattering stain on your magazine and a lingering smell on your reputation. To quote the man himself, "Shit's stinkin'". Second, to speak to the whole idea of reviews. Art critics are like ticks with an opinion. "Sally's blood is jut too high in iron and has an [sic] strange off color, almost too tomato. Which may work if it's B+, but in this case it only makes me want to go find another vein." Maybe, there is a tick out there that likes alot [sic] of iron in it's blood. Somewhere, there's bound to be. It's nice to get a blanket idea of what I'm into if I am to purchase a CD but is it necessary to crush the spirits of it's maker? At it's [sic] least it's not funny, at most just cruel. If I wanted insipid and mean, I'll turn on talk radio. Unsigned Dear Unsigned, Thank you for taking the time, firstly, to read my claptrap, and then to reply with your own musings. The good people at Music Lib. were kind enough to ask me to respond. I only disagree with your letter on one point: There are no innocent. It's just a buncha people, thanks much. When things go right, both the musicians and reviewers are equally guilty of self expression. When things go wrong, they parrot what they think you, The Reader or Listener, want to hear -- or worse yet, what their overlords want to hear. I completely agree that mean-spirited reviews are unconstructive, unattractive and just no fun. So is being mean spirited in general. Sour bastards. Obviously, I'm not above lashing out blindly at whatever target happens by. I don't do much of a job at either, I know. But Music Lib. wrote me a big fat check to put the piece together and I just can't say no to that kinda money. I'm glad you liked the poop jokes and found them just as banal and unsophisticated as I intended. The world is way too heavy to forget the original source of our humor: so called "bodily functions." If you doubt me, try this little experiment: Start sneaking little "poot" sounds into your day. On the bus, or walking down the street, just purse your lips and blow a little. That squeak will probably draw someone's attention and, when it does, act embarrassed. I bet it'll make you smile. If more cops and law makers got involved in this little ritual the world would be a better place. Maybe in a next incarnation I'll be a men's room attendant. I hope not a toilet seat. Oh, great. Now I'm worrying about it. That's a sure way to wind-up a toilet seat. As for talk radio, it constipates me. A true story: I got a reporting assignment in a tiny Caribbean country. I needed a stool sample to complete my physical and obtain a work permit. My flight left the next day and I had just two hours to collect some of my own dung. But nuth'n was there. I chugged coffee and turbo-truffles and drove around listening to talk radio, thinking it would "move me." It was terrible. I knew a guy who used animal scat and got his permit denied for having worms. Thankfully, the city of Portland is full of the kindest, giving souls and I was able to pass the poo test with a little help from a friend and cover the cock-fighting matches as my employer wished. I hope and pray to the great cat-head in the sky that I never drive anyone to the vile, feces impacted world of talk radio. Love and kisses, Tell the world what you think of it. |