Sure, the new album is good. But she’s not just a purveyor of sad, sad songs. And her earlier “sad” stuff is worth revisiting.
Who would you rather be? / The Beatles or the Rolling Stones / Oh, seriously / You’re gonna make mistakes, you’re young. What’s THAT supposed to mean? In a different era, Metric would be huge. It’s…
… a fantastic song with cleverly ambiguous lyrics.
In Love Actually, as in love itself, the good outweighs the bad.
But this, to me, isn’t about simple politics. This is about our fundamental ability to discern fact from fiction. It’s been under assault for decades — my thesis, published in 2000, warned us that we were in danger of retreating to misinformed echo chambers. (I wish that term had been in vogue at the time. It would’ve saved me some exposition.)
So please don’t interpret this piece, a roundtable with me and several other veteran journalists at Popdose, as simple Trump-bashing or left-wing fretting. We should all be concerned about attitudes toward the media.
The media need watchdogs, sure. But how did we reach the point at which we trust some obviously partisan person doing no original reporting over honest investigations requiring many people to do a lot of digging and checking?
We journalists tend not to stick up for ourselves. It’s hard to imagine another product that always prints criticisms of that product ON that product. (I’m referring to letters to the editor, and my historical research concluded that they weren’t any smarter or nicer in the 1960s.) And with rare exception, we don’t even respond. If someone calls me all sorts of nasty names — and yes, it happened even before the Internet made it easy — I’m supposed to sit back and take it.
I’m not sure we can do that any more. What we do is valuable. We can — and should — defend our work. We can’t just do the politically correct thing and listen patiently as every wingnut on the planet (and yes, this includes many on the “left” as well as the various factions fighting to be the “right” these days) takes shots at us that we can easily refute.
Call it elitist if you want. All I can tell you is that I’ve worked with hundreds of people who put their work ahead of their politics, and they make an honest effort to get at the truth. And they’ll listen to constructive feedback. If you tune them out and listen to some deranged cartoonist instead, you’re choosing unwisely.
Start with a Bull Durham quote, then move into a critique of televangelism written by someone voted “Least Likely to be a Lutheran Pastor” …
It’s funny but also thoughtful. The book, that is. (Well, hopefully the review as well …)
The latest in the “What’s THAT Supposed to Mean?” series draws inspiration from The Sounds and Bill Bruford:
Rock stars often don’t do themselves any favors when they sing about their jobs. Bullet With Butterfly Wings isn’t one of Billy Corgan’s most relatable lyrics. Even Rebecca Black recorded a song about dealing with fame, which seems a bit like an arsonist singing We Didn’t Start the Fire.
But musicians are in the perfect position to give us insight into creativity, that vital force no one really understands. We can feel the frustration in the Rush song Losing It or Suzanne Vega’s paean to writer’s block, Rusted Pipe.
And sometimes, creative people bare their souls or produce something that seems so important, only to see it fall on deaf ears. That’s devastating, even if your income isn’t dependent on whatever you’re creating.
Combined a book review of Bill Bryson’s The Road to Little Dribbling with a look at suburban planning.
March 4, 2016