The prevailing wisdom is this: that rock music–as played with guitars, bass, and drums–has its charms, but also its limitations; that there’s only so much you can do with those instruments without becoming repetitive and/or pedestrian; and that in order to be intelligent, rock-oriented music must look outward, toward new…
One of the conceits to which every critic must be genetically predisposed is the idea that, at the end of the day, his or her opinion actually matters. That some unknown phantasm at a nonspecific coffee shop sits immersed in said critic’s latest ill-advised screed, imbibing every word as if…
How do you experience a year? Can a person ever shed his innate subjectivity and perceive or appreciate something on a different level than he would a warm, fuzzy sweater, a pork chop, or a long car trip? It doesn’t really matter; nobody’s going to pay me to write about…
