There was a recent article in Business Week Online (thanks to the swell blog The Rich Girls are Weeping) that weakly attempts to diagnose music writing’s current (permanent?) sickness of overblowing milquetoast, Pottery Barn-ready stuff like Aimee Mann or Wilco. The article is so poorly written that it makes me reconsider my current laziness when it comes to freelancing for money; if writer Jon Fine can get away with this for Biz Week, someone has to be able to pay up for the the type of entries I wrote on this very subject not too long ago —
In the biz week article, Fine angles that this Mann/Wilcos et al stuff can be known as Editor Rock. And then he adds himself to this special blog’s file — marked The Unintentionally Funny — by offering a list of what is supposedly not Editor Rock, which, in turn, is totally Editor Rock. He probably likes the Editors, too.
And I quote:
Editor rock is not: Slayer, Dizzee Rascal, Black Flag, Boredoms, Marianne Faithful (“Broken English”-era), Melvins, Funkadelic, Black Dice, High on Fire, Stooges, Public Image Limited, Magma, Nico (solo), Kyuss, and King Crimson and Miles Davis at their most aggressive and tightly-wound.
He might has well have mentioned the Fall. A laugh, no? Let’s get down to it:
—Slayer, while I profess love, is the editor-man’s totally safe choice of metal band because it would be too uncool to admit that Master of Puppets is still better than anything recorded by any speed metal outfit, let alone Metallica, who all died in a plane crash after it was recorded. The current members are evil clones.
–Dizzee Rascal is too young to have a career without editors. He’s what, 17? His album was weak, too.
—Black Flag, love them as you must, they made it interesting to write about punk.
–Only anyone who edits music journalism listens to the Boredoms, even if they’re Japanese. I saw the Boredoms booed and pelted with garbage by a Lollapalooze crowd of lax-playing meatnecks. Making them Editor Rock forever.
—The Melvins are the editorial equivalent of a make-up call. They’re the only early-nineties Seattle band an editor can openly love, nowadays, and not look like a bewigged Matt Dillon in Singles chugging beers to”I’m the Man in the Box.”
—The Stooges have no career without editors, because their albums hardly sold in their time, no?
–Public Image Limited — anything that Bill Laswell touches is Editor Rock. And the semiotics are totally liberal arts Greil Marcus voodoo hoodoo grad student deconstruction lalalala. (don’t get me wrong, I love ’em – Album is a cornerstone for me.)
—Nico, or anything Velvet, is editor rock, as is all classic rock not played on classic rock stations.
–Somewhere, 3 guys in their 40s own a record store and they’re sitting around talking abut King Crimson. They all edit a local zine or blog, and they suck.
—Miles Davis, even his Live/Evil wackjob funk, is jazz for rock editors trying to seem diverse and cool although they have no idea who Ahmad Jamal, Codona, or Roland Kirk are/where.
So, J Frank, what’s not editor rock? Morbid Angel. Joe Cuba Sextet. Prefab Sprout. Papoose. Sockeye. The Child Molesters. Dolly Parton. Journey. Blowfly. King Brothers. Lightning Bolt. The Ex. Butch Willis. Mary J. Blige. Bob Hund. The Kids of Widney High.
Which brings me to McLusky, since their lyrics seemed to be directly pointed, in utmost hatred, at music editors, music promoters, music labels, music people. They aren’t Editor Rock, but should be (a whole new category …!) But they are no more. Bassist Jon Chappple has fired the first solo shot via the album Yes! Tinnitus! by Shooting at Unarmed Men, and it’s not half bad. But that also means not half good.
Speaking of girls’ music:
It seems a slew of Long Blondes’ material has hit the bigger blogs; looks like a single has been leaked via their new label Rough Trade, and it should be truly out in June; explains the blog tracks, but also the four-song white-label single that I snagged last week, but without the songs now being posted (“A Weekend Without Makeup,” “Big Infatuation”). See my overblown fandom here.
Bonus, while I’m feeling generous: