Just remember, guys. You’re all special. Just because there’s a dearth of jobs for music critics, doesn’t mean the positions you all currently occupy are going the way of the eight-track.
If any of the critics need a hug (or a beer) hit me up.

Do we? Daly served as a judge for American Idol tryouts.

American Idols is news since it is one of the most popular shows on television. The Times is justified in covering it. I question how many American Idol viewers read music criticism.

Here’s tip #1,230,344…

Joey, I missed tip #1 through #1,230,343. Could recite them all for me.

I enjoyed reading his observations about the changing face of music criticism and certainly can empathize.

I don’t think he was slagging Sean Daly, but he is a little rushed sometimes in his references to other people and can seem dismissive if not read carefully. That’s his bad, I have to say — a skill he can brush up on. (Just as I have areas I need to improve, I’m sure.)

More importantly, this blog opens up what can be, I think, a more productive dialogue on how we draw the line between discerning observations and pretentious musings.

For instance, I have a love-hate relationship with Pitchfork Media, whose writers can be amazingly insightful and turn an enviable phrase now and then, but they just can’t get past their hipster self-consciousness.

However many of Pitchfork writers (not all) use up their alloted word count with heady arcane literary allusions, you can’t help but sense the comparisons, the “Oh, that’s so 2005″ sighs and eye-rolling.”

The nebulous genre of indie pop was once a niche-less haven of artists seeking a modicum of popularity outside the mainstream.

Now, we have tastemakers mucking it up there too.

I myself have de-snarked, just as a byproduct of growing up and not taking myself seriously — not trying to embrace the mainstream.

(Note: I can get a bug up my butt about something and relish a good keystroke-lashing now and then.)

I try to veer away from what I feel is obsolete pedantry because all that Critic with a capital “C” bluster just comes across as self-indulgent and ridiculous — period, but especially in the face of the accessibility of music and information.

Not that we don’t need gatekeepers, but the concept that listeners are robbed of good art if bad art becomes commercially successful is no longer a reality.

It’s indignance for the sake of indignance and usually rings hollow, especially by a young inexperienced writer trying to impress his or her peers and superiors.

As writers, we should always stop ourselves and ask, “Is this the best use of this paragraph?”

We should also ask these questions:

Could I work harder on my description of the song, the emotion it conveys, how it balances out?

Should I try to listen a song again and try to hear it through a new prism, seeking that one strata of brilliance amid what’s grating on my nerves?

Am I using more energy unearthing an impressive reference and drawing a comparison only two people will understand?

On the same hand, I’m not advocating we dumb down our writing for the sake of disseminating information.

People are inundated with blogs, essays and other blurbage.

Standing out, making sense and saying something new are more of a challenge than ever.

We as writers need to rise to the challenge and deal with the changes in employment structure as a sign that we need to evolve, too.

A good start would be to examine where we are applying our observation, wit and purity of intention.

So, according to your logic then, CL gives you the freedom to ignore American Idol AND local music acts? Because covering only venues that are South of Kennedy Blvd is worse than Daly’s coverage of the NKOB reunion.

Here’s tip #1,230,344, Wade: never compare yourself to another music critic (or for that matter, anyone who writes for a living, for a hobby, or for a joke). You will never end up looking good.

I’ve always harbored disdain for the dismissiveness at the heart of much canonical rock criticism and the insularity of the rock niches deemed to be worthy of consideration. Stephen Thomas Erlewine, senior editor for AllMusic.com, lays out a compelling argument against the hipster aesthetic in his critique of Sufjan Stevens http://allmusic.com/cg/amg.dll?p=amg&sql=61::67KP

Not to rag on Stevens, but Erlewine makes the case, which I am inclined to agree with, that the critical praise heaped on his music is “emblematic of how pop, particularly in indie, has become a bunch of self-serving, self-congratulatory niches.”

He further criticizes Stevens’ album Come On Feel the Illinoise as “creating a precious world that is insular and also alienating.”

I can’t think of a better way to describe the aesthetic that drives the underground scene. While I am sure that some aficionados genuinely love music and artists whom I would describe as pretentious, ponderous and precocious (the triple-P threat), I’m very much in the Erlewine camp in believing that some people intentionally hew to musical tastes that will frame them outside the mainstream. It’s more a sociological exercise in being seen as cool than a pure expression of musical taste. At least, that’s how I interpret it.

And yet I’m just as guilty of bowing to peer pressure when choosing the 35 or so songs for our Friday Dance Party at the Loaf office. My choices result from a delicate balancing act between acceptable tastes and what I find personally pleasing. From past experience, I know that I can safely include Chuck Berry, Elvis and Motown with nary a snicker. Same with the “it” bands of the moment, such as My Morning Jacket and Fleet Foxes. So between the songs that I feel have codified, tastemaker-approved appeal, I occasionally shoehorn songs that will likely raise an eyebrow or cause some on our staff to shudder at their inclusion, e.g., “Sugar Sugar” by The Archies or “The Night the Lights Went out in Georgia.” In other words, I try to slip in songs that, while I may like them, I’m fairly certain some people will be looking down their noses at my pedestrian choices. My hope is that listeners who hate a particular song will hear its inclusion as ironic in the context of a set list that is otherwise “acceptable,” even though I don’t intend the slightest bit of irony in playing “Copacabana.” My secret is out.

So you could imagine my weekly delight when co-workers demonstrate their enjoyment for some of my more “iffy” picks. You yourself noted the ’70s soft-rock origins of Super Furry Animals’ “It’s Not the End of the World.” And yet, as I peeked over my cubicle, there was James dancing to the song without a trace of irony. I wonder how many others in the office would enjoy some of my cheesier picks if they were played in another context (e.g., a small house party), where there’s less peer pressure to conform to the presumed aesthetic.

Speaking of which:

A little more than a year ago, I was at an Ybor bar and, to the amusement/horror of my drinking companion, played ABBA’s “Thank You for the Music” on the jukebox. I didn’t play it to be ironic — I’m genuinely moved by the song and make no apologies for liking it. When it was over, the employees began the process of closing down the tavern. My companion teased me that it was my song choice that caused the lights to dim. If that were the case, so be it, and fuck ‘em if they think I shouldn’t choose a song available on their jukebox because it’s not what the “tastemakers” consider acceptable. Especially when the place was nearly empty.

I’ve already started on this Friday’s dance list (15 songs at last count), and thus far they’re all safe choices. But you can be sure I’ll be sneaking in a few eye-rolling tunes that make me want to get my groove on while throwing back a beer or two.