I almost hate to enact the typical 10th-grade speech-class introduction, but I think we can all glean something important from defining the term "critic." Today, it has pretty negative connotations, but these aren't always true. Most agree that critics are people who share their assessments of an art form in either a positive, negative or well-balanced light. But the thing that should be emphasized—and written in bulky, bold letters—is that a critic is merely a sharer of opinions.
I am an avid reader of music criticism. Being a music critic is a tough gig. I should know, not because I am one (though that is true) but because I can be incredibly judgmental of critics. Sometimes this is for good reason, as in cases where a critic refuses to see the positive features of a record. Other times, I'm just protective of a band that I love. I'm sure you've been there, too. Fans tend to cling to a particular album or artist that meets them where they are and tugs at them in just the right way. They defend those songs like you would a newborn baby in a bear cave.
One of my favorite albums, easily in my top 10, is Fireworks' "Gospel." Though Fireworks is labeled as punk, a genre that I'm either not anarchical enough or too civil to enjoy, "Gospel" rises above the "I don't care" attitude and the grungy vocals of punk music. Instead, it's marked with crafty instrumentation, catchy lyrics and brilliant turns of phrase. It's about staying true to your past through the ever-uncertain future, dealing with self-doubt and falling back on real friendships. Noted music-reviewing magazine Under the Gun gave "Gospel" a 7.5 out of 10. For some perspective, this same reviewer, whom I won't name, recently reviewed Katy Perry's new album "Prism" and its single "Roar." He wrote, "The bar for the competition has been set not one, but four or five notches higher."
He reviewed "Gospel" back in 2011, and I still think about it. I was shocked and, admittedly, upset about this bland score for one of my favorite records. But here's why I shouldn't have been and why I now do my best to avoid defensiveness: Most reviewers are fully aware that their reviews are only their opinion, not gospel (pun fully intended).
Is it fair that Perry's song, which references Disney's "Hercules" in passing, scores higher than any number of Fireworks' metaphorical phrases? For instance, "The Wild Bunch" begins with a meaningful Beach Boys allusion to life on the road: "Like a landlocked Brian Wilson, always aching for the tides, our heads are comfortable on a pillow but always sinking on the other side."
But, the thing is, no matter how strongly I feel about a song, record or a band, thousands more feel the exact opposite way. The same reasons why I love "Gospel" may be exactly why another listener hates it.
Welcome to the struggle of the music reviewer. No opinion can please everyone because no music can please everyone. That's why we have an endless cornucopia of genres, subgenres and micro-genres such as "astral house" or "intelli-pop." Certain elements of genres just don't resonate with all people.
Realistically, a majority of music consumers are casual listeners—roamers of radio stations who don't care if a song uses a celebrated surf-pop writer as a metaphor for discontent. They want songs that are applicable to their lives, can be cranked to high volumes during long car rides and belted like Celine Dion on the bow of the Titanic.
This variability in preference goes far beyond pop and permeates all levels of audio entertainment. If I like screaming in music, you may hate it. If I like vuvuzela ... OK, no one likes vuvuzela. But you get the point. All a music critic can truly do is to offer his or her best appraisal of the agreeable and disagreeable elements in any piece, hopefully, in a manner that is both non-insulting and fair-minded.
The funny thing about a review, though, is that it's another form of art. It's literature, plain and simple, and even critics are susceptible to criticism. If you strongly disagree with a music critic or if you really believe that Ke$ha is the modern Madonna, you don't have to be silent. Be analytical, be unbiased—but most of all, be honest.