Friday, August 19, 2011

I could never be your rock critic

Strong opinions about music have led me into trouble more times than I can count, and I tend to change my mind about these things over time anyway, which makes fastidiousness seem silly. (ssssss.)

I think that in many cases I develop a nuanced connection to the material over time - exalting the positive while gently forgiving the negative (welcome to yet another bad boyfriend analogy).

And still, some artists creep up on me and immediately I just want to screeeeeam rather than listen to them. Today I tried out a new album - a free download, so no names because that would be unforgivable ingratitude - which is supposed to be an r&b record, about which I thought, "hooray! ", forgetting that r&b no longer exists and instead we're faced with music that makes you feel like you're covered with hot slime. What I really want to say is "BARF BARF BARF X1000 NEGATIVE EIGHT STARS PLEASE NEVER MAKE SOUNDS AGAIN." But that might negate someone else's beautiful experience with the hot slime album, so I won't. It's agony.

Related: I went to an art show a couple of months ago where all I wanted to do was scream "WHY DOES SHE ALWAYS HAVE TO MAKE IT ABOUT BOOBS?" But I waited until I got home instead, which I felt was evidence of growth.

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