Showing posts with label Joe Queenan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Joe Queenan. Show all posts

9/17/09

Just Because You Write for the Times Doesn't Mean You Don't Suck

Joe Queenan, Two Great Tastes (but Not Great Together), 9/6/2009, New York Times

Let's get right to it.

ON Sept. 12 Trey Anastasio, the lead guitarist of the jam band Phish...

Whoa! Hold it there, maestro, you almost lost me. Phish is a jam band? Good thing you qualified that for me, because, see--I just popped into being like 8 seconds ago. Maybe you can help me: what's this thing dangling between my legs?

ON Sept. 12 Trey Anastasio, the lead guitarist of the jam band Phish, will give the New York premiere of his concerto “Time Turns Elastic” with the New York Philharmonic at Carnegie Hall.

I guess that I assume that Anastasio wrote a concerto for electric guitar and orchestra, and I also guess that I assume that he's playing the solo part and not, say, conducting. But I don't know. Because: you did not provide this information. Instead, despite a hyperlink [in the online version, of course], you elected to report [sic] that Phish is a jam band.

If earlier versions available online are any indication, Mr. Anastasio will be bringing New Yorkers not some gaseous reimagining of Carl Orff’s “Carmina Burana” or Gustav Holst’s “Planets” — the route pop classicists usually take — but a recognizably Anastasian composition rooted in the style that made Phish so successful.

Ugh.

First: Titles of entire compositions should be italicized. If you're going to be--or pretend to be--a cultural elitist asshole (which is evident, in abundance, below), get it straight, or you'll look like an idiot.


Figure 1: Just a suggestion.

Second: Hey, mister editor at the New York Fucking Times? See above, and do your job.

As such, it is bound to be an improvement on what these escapades in cultural alchemy usually turn into.

Hey, asshole/idiot guy who writes words for a living? Your bizarre subjunctive-speculative sentence ends in a preposition. Again, a tip: if you're taking the cultural high ground (as it were)--or (again) perhaps, pretending to--try to follow basic rules of usage.


Figure 2: More of a necessity than a suggestion.

Okay, now, let's calm down. Maybe I'm being too harsh...?

Classical ensembles have been slumming with rock stars since the days of Frank Zappa.

Or not.

Hey, asshole? Go fuck yourself and your faux-elitist sensibilities.


Figure 3: "Most people wouldn't know music if it came up and bit them on the ass." --Frank Zappa

Anyone who really thinks (or, worse, says in print) that Frank Zappa was a "rock star" and/or that "classical" ensembles were "slumming" with him by association (no matter how tongue-in-cheek that remark was meant) is a moron of the highest caliber. Besides demonstrating a complete ignorance about what Zappa thought about, well, anything, but particularly music, it utterly misunderstands his relationship with so-called "high" and "low" art.

Moreover, singling out Zappa for this faux-slur is perhaps the second dumbest example you could have chosen, right after John Coltrane.

Figure 4: Unsophisticated pop musicians are best served avoiding pretensions of intelligence.

Bop and serialism were, in the late fifties and early sixties, aesthetically pretty close to one another. Further, not all "rock" music was made by idiots in their garages. "Real" or "trained" rock [pop] musicians making sophisticated and/or intelligent music did not begin with King Crimson. And minimalism deliberately blurred the "uptown" and "downtown" scenes; and Paul McCartney was listening to Stockhausen far before Sgt. Pepper was recorded.

Oh, but clearly, Queenan's an expert on both "classical" and "rock" music and/or culture in general. I assume this because his writing appears in the Times (evidence follows).

This year alone the Decemberists have performed with the Los Angeles Philharmonic and with a pickup orchestra in Chicago; the classical pianist Christopher O’Riley is offering tarted-up versions of songs by Radiohead and Nick Drake; and, most ominously, Sting is giving onstage readings of the letters Schumann wrote to his wife, Clara; meanwhile a pianist in the background plays Schumann.

Oh noes! My hegemony is being threatened! HALP!

Also: how is that last bit "ominous?" It portends the arrival of...your scorn?

Also: was there really no way to compose that last clause without using "Schumann" twice?

Figure 5: Pretty much the same thing as this article.

No matter how much of this cross-fertilization goes on, there is no evidence that it takes root with the target audience.

I assert that this is totally untrue, partially because people keep doing it, and it must make some money somehow, or they'd quit. Moreover, your evidence for there being "no evidence" is comprised, both merely and utterly, of a bunch of baseless assertions.

Young people are not drawn to the classics by listening to rock stars moonlighting on their day off,...

Evaluation: baseless assertion. Is that an observation? Is there a study of some kind? Did you read it in a book?

No?

No. You decided it, and wrote it. Well done.

...or by hearing Béla Fleck jack up Scarlatti on the banjo.

Again: baseless assertion. Also: "jack up"? I don't think this is an accepted use of this slang-y term. Who do you think you are, Jim Rome?

Figure 6: "Dude. Bro. Get that clarinet out of your grill and use your dome."

Can we just fucking say any bullshit that comes into our head, and, despite any supporting evidence (or lack thereof), get our mental Pablum published in the goddamn New York Times?

And classical audiences tend to loathe intruders: this is a genre whose enthusiasts initially turned up their noses at George Gershwin.

And then decided he was a genius. Also, there used to be a sign over the door in Symphony Hall in Boston that said "In Case of Brahms, Exit Here," but they figured it out. Also, Beethoven's early critics thought he was writing noise instead of music, which was (also) almost verbatim, the exact criticism leveled at Shostakovich.

The evidence does not support your, uh, "thesis." Moreover, your evidence is for crap. Moreover, your thesis is for shit.

Oh, but here comes the money quote!

So they’re not likely to welcome the guy from Phish with open arms. And in any case, reading David Baldacci doesn’t lead anyone to “David Copperfield”; it leads to Dan Brown.

Holy crap. Seriously? What?

Really?!

Oh jesus christ on roller skates...

Basically, Queenan has just erected an iron wall between "high" and "low" culture, regardless of the interrogation and scrutiny that this distinction has been under since, for instance, the twenties.

That is at once both the most ignorant and most offensive thing I think I've ever read regarding music.

There's more to the article. Well--there are more words in the article.

But I don't care. I'm fucking done. Read the rest if you want. I'm out.

I'd rather fuck a bag of razors* than pretend this is worth a pile of gerbil shit.

[leaves]

*Yeah, thanks. I spent a while coming up with that one.

7/26/09

Gosh! Why Do People Hate Critics So Much?

Outstanding.

In a wonderfully misguided piece of come-on-we-all-know-I'm-right drivel, Joe Queenan (of the Guardian UK) asserts that he is the ultimate arbiter of taste, and, furthermore, speaks for everyone. For some unknown reason, he was presumably paid to pen and publish this pointless prattle:

Admit it, you're as bored as I am

Ha ha! Oh, and while I have a second: fuck you!

After 40 years and 1,500 concerts, Joe Queenan is finally ready to say the unsayable: new classical music is absolute torture - and its fans have no reason to be so smug

Well, good thing you decided to...make it your profession? Genius.

Furthermore, I am chagrined at having received, finally, my comeuppance. I know: how about you tell me what I think--maybe I'll thank you for it!

A few choice bits should suffice...

In New York, Philadelphia and Boston, concert-goers have learned to stay awake and applaud politely at compositions by Christopher Rouse and Tan Dun. But they do this only because these works tend to be short and not terribly atonal; because they know this is the last time in their lives they'll have to listen to them; and because the orchestra has signed a contract in blood guaranteeing that if everyone holds their nose and eats their vegetables, they'll be rewarded with a great dollop of Tchaikovsky and Mendelssohn.

Well! That'll learn 'em for paying money to support orchestras that hate them. Also, every point supporting the argument is a baseless assertion. If it was supposed to be funny, well, I guess I found it a few notches below Hee Haw.

Figure 1: Wherein I compare the urbane witticisms of the Guardian critic to a show about idiots. Palin/Jindal 2012!

I reckon it'd be pointless to point out that there was a time when Brahms and Tchaikovsky were new, audiences resisted them, and there was speculation about whether this "new-for-new's-sake" music would ever make the canon. But never you mind that.

I have tried to come to terms with the demands of modern music. I am no lover of Renaissance Muzak, and own tons of records by Berg, Varèse, Webern, Rihm, Schnittke, Adès, Wuorinen, Crumb, Carter, and Babbitt: I consider myself to be the kind of listener contemporary composers would need to reach if they had any hope of achieving a breakthrough. So far, this has not happened, and I doubt that it will.

Those kids and their rock and/or roll music! Why, it'll never replace the dulcet tones of big band crooners! Furthermore, I've staked out my cultural place already, so why bother trying?

Also, having established that the critic owns lots of records of music he doesn't like is a bizarre rhetorical move. I guess it's supposed to show that he "knows of what he speaks" but translates as strange and incongruous. If my home is filled with cubist paintings, one might assume that I like cubist paintings. But no: I just have them all over my walls; really, I think they suck.

A certain market for demanding new music can always be found among brash young urbanites, but this audience is not large, nor well-heeled. Moreover, it is by no means certain that the affection for new work survives one's youth, when sonically grating music is mostly a way of antagonising older people. The central problem in writing music targeting hipsters is that even hipsters one day stop being hip, and get replaced by hipsters who want their own brand of annoying music.

Yeah, I believe that "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy" was just as antagonizing to my great-grandfather as Melt Banana would be to my father.

Figure 2: Melt Banana. Here is a youtube link for you. [Warning: Noise. Well, okay; Japanese post-punk noise weirdness.]

The assertion that Lizst, gangsta rap, and Terry Riley are all merely assults on the establishment that are not even remotely "really" liked even and/or especially by their fans (or even creators!) is shallow, unsubstantiated, and borderline criminally stupid.

But lo! A counterpoint piece. Here is a measured response with less indignant swearing:

Tom Service, Guardian UK: Why Joe Queenan is wroing about new classical music

That's better; much better. However, if this was a dualistic attempt by the Guardian at a point/counterpoint set of opposing opinion/review pieces, it sucked.

Why not just get an American sportswriter to opine about how boring soccer is? [It's not.--ed.]

[UPDATE/EDIT!:

Well, it seems like this is a year old, and I already addressed it, sort of.

Shows you what my memory's like, I guess.

Regardless, and in deference to netiquette, I'll leave it be.]

7/9/08

Thunder Stolen by Brits

Crud. I was going to blog about this:

Admit it, you're as bored as I am

from the Guardian UK. But they let one of their own beat me to it:

Why Joe Queenan is wrong about new classical music

Damn! So much snark and righteous indignation wasted.

Ah, well, perhaps next time. And by "perhaps" I mean "definitely".

Please go read both links. The arguments are fascinating.

Oh, and shame on you, Joe Queenan. You're not helping.