Everybody’s a Critic
Readers of this site are probably aware of my fondness for Pete Yorn’s musicforthemorningafter. So you can probably imagine that my hackles were pretty well raised by Kevin Canfield’s recent Salon article “This Year’s Model,� in which Canfield says, among other things, “In a way, Yorn is everything that is wrong with contemporary rock and pop.� Obviously, I disagree, but I was prepared to write it off as a disagreement of taste until Canfield explains exactly what way he means: “The epitome of a mediocre (but carefully packaged) soulful white boy who looks good in publicity photos, he represents something very bad and very annoying about the relationship between labels and the rock writers who make careers of regurgitating press releases.�
In other words, Yorn isn’t bad just because his music isn’t very good. He’s bad because Columbia Records has gone to great lengths to say that Yorn is good, and because rock critics like Rolling Stone’s Arion Berger (who gave music a four-star review) have blindly gone along with the label to perpetuate this obvious falsehood. But all is not lost, Canfield says. Rock critics aren’t dumb sycophants all of the time, although he adds, “You might be excused for thinking that, though, if you look at all the ink still devoted to a band like Pearl Jam, all the praise heaped on Springsteen’s simply awful The Rising, or the fact that some critics are actually paying any attention at all to Lisa Marie Presley.â€? Occasionally, though, they show some sense and agree with Canfield.
In a nutshell, that’s Canfield’s argument right there – “my judgments with respect to art are true, correct, and universal. Agree with me, or be wrong.” As you can imagine, I was immediately overcome by the logical force of this claim, and dumped my Yorn CDs in the nearest trash can before scrubbing my ears out with soap as penance for my sins.
Just kidding, of course. I was overwhelmed, but by Canfield’s arrogance more than his logic. It’s an arrogance shared by many critics and consumers alike, and it seems to miss the very point of art. Human beings are not homogenous – what speaks to or connects with one person might not with another. An artist who tries to speak to everyone will probably wind up being so bland and/or schizophrenic as to say nothing to anyone. But one that can speak to a great many people – even if I’m not one of them – is doing something worthwhile.
In arguing for a less elitist view of art, I’m not trying to equate the popular with the good, and say that the art that sells the most – or even that the most people say they like — is the best. As I’ve said before, I think that art is a form of communication between the artist and the audience, in which the artist strives to help the audience achieve some kind of intellectually and/or emotionally enriching experience. So I believe that an artwork that has a very deep and profound impact on a moderate number of people has more merit than something which might be intensely popular for a short time, and then forgotten. Short of a global art-appreciation census, we’ll never really have an accurate gauge on that score, but I think it’s an ideal worth keeping in mind. Rather than ask why the fans of something we don’t particularly care for are so misguided, we might ask what it is that makes them connect with the work. Art writers could give us a greater understanding of art and the human condition this way, although it would involve getting off their pedestal as evaluators and getting down and dirty as reporters.
Here’s an example that I think shows the merit of my way of thinking, and the folly of Canfield’s. In the same piece that excoriates Yorn, he extols Lucinda Williams as “the best songwriter of the era,â€? and gives the rock critics who have pushed her work for years some credit for her success. (There’s that “You’re smart if you agree with me” vibe I was talking about.) Here’s what struck me as funny: every year Philadelphia public radio station WXPN polls its listeners to put together a list of the Top 50 Albums of the year. In 2001, Lucinda William’s Essence took the top spot. At number two? Musicforthemorningafter. If Canfield is right, then the same community of listeners that had the great sense, taste and independence to like Williams was simultaneously ignorant enough to dig Yorn. I suppose it’s possible, but I have much more respect for the community’s viewpoint than for any single critic. So I’m inclined to think both albums have merit, even if I enjoy one a heck of a lot more than I do the other.
This is not to say that I think criticism is useless. A critic who spends a great deal of time considering the work, trying to understand its meaning, and placing that meaning into a larger context performs an invaluable service. I admit I find this to be more likely with regard to ‘textual’ works like books, song lyrics, or narrative stories than with works that don’t carry a verbal component, but it’s far from impossible to do even with regards to music or visual arts. (A good example of what I’m talking about is Paul O’Brien’s scathing review of Captain America #6, in which O’Brien goes into great detail to highlight the political underpinnings of the issue’s central conflict, and explain why those underpinnings convey a distorted and ultimately dangerous message.)
Criticism of this sort, however, is exceptionally rare, especially when one considers how superficially many critics view a work. In criticizing Yorn’s lyrics (which even I admit are far from his strong suit) Canfield writes, “At various points during the album’s 14 songs, Yorn begs an ex to ‘come back home’â€? and so on. Thing is, nowhere in “Come Back Homeâ€? does Yorn use any term that suggests he’s talking to a lover, former or otherwise, or even anything that suggests he’s begging. And on the CD-Extra video clip included with the CD, Yorn says that the song is about his feelings upon getting home from his time on the road promoting music. Maybe you believe him, maybe you don’t. But there’s no evidence that Canfield’s interpretation is correct, which seems to me to be kind of important if you’re going to lambaste the guy over his trite, easy-to-grasp lyrics. And as for the phrase ‘during the album’s 14 songs’ . . . Canfield and/or his fact checker must have missed that there are only 13 tracks on Day I Forgot. Track 13 is blank. Nitpicky? Sure. But if you’re going to set yourself up as some kind of authority, you damn well better know what you’re talking about.
About Dave Thomer
Born and raised in Philadelphia. Studied philosophy at Fordham University in the Bronx, where I made many great friends and met my wonderful wife. We moved back to Philadelphia, where I studied philosophy some more and became a teacher. Online and off, I'm looking for ways that we can be better citizens and build stronger communities.