From August 1984 to May 1985, I wrote entertainment reviews for The Statesman, the college newspaper for the State University of New York at Stony Brook, where I earned my B.A. in English, along with a Journalism minor and a teaching certification. In fact, I became Arts Editor at the paper almost immediately -- mostly, I think, because I was willing to stay up until 5:00 in the morning once a week doing paste-up in a time before word processors and desktop publishing.
Over that school year, I did movie reviews (7) and theater reviews (3), but mostly I reviewed new albums that were sent to the paper by various labels and promoters (18). It was, to put it mildly, a mixed bag of styles and abilities. It was also an incredible education. I’ve just reread those reviews, and here is some of what I have learned:
-- I was a pretty good teacher, offering readers a useful historical context for understanding the work at hand, especially albums by lesser known artists. I did my research to render an artist’s previous work and critical reception.
-- I was a good writer, even then, but I was also struggling to find ways to describe the sounds I was hearing:
Layers and layers of deep, resonant backing vocals support the pure tones of lead vocalist Maire Brennan as she climbs and descends from the stratospheric heights she is capable of. Ciaran Brennan punctuates each track with an achingly melodic but forceful bass line, tenderly but insistently pushing against the airy acoustic guitar trio of Paul Brennan and Pat and Noel Duggan. Clannad hangs fragile and transparent tones slipping in and out of focus over the sparse, martial drumming of guest percussionist Frank Ricotti.
If I can talk articulately about music now, it’s because I forged that necessary vocabulary from scratch, through forced encounters with distinctively different musical styles, under pressure, with a looming deadline, week after week.
-- As an English major, I paid close attention to the lyrics, of course, learning a lot about how to do it:
Time and the elements have not weathered The Kinks. Dave Davies’ lyrical forte, the ability to link a string of ordinary phrases and images into a devastatingly coherent and complete statement, is only getting sharper.
And how not to do it:
Triumph’s lyrical clichés reach nauseating proportions: Rock and roll lives and breathes in the hearts of the young . . . Rock and roll hearts just never die.
-- I was very concerned about radio airplay and the lack thereof, and how impossibly important it was for a band’s success and longevity in a time before the internet:
Thunder Seven, the new album by the veteran Canadian trio, Triumph, aspires to be a concept album expounding a philosophy to help one survive the everyday world. But since the death of album-oriented rock programming, Triumph has found itself without radio exposure, without an audience, and without any sense of direction.
-- Over that year, I likewise learned to be very concerned about the sophomore jinx, about the tremendously fraught problem of making a *second* album, which required bands to walk a very tricky tightrope, somehow melding both old and new, consistency and change, their already-known (and loved) sound and vibe with something new and different. Too much in either direction — wildly different or just the same-old, same old — and a band was doomed. And given the economics of big money record contracts, which required bands to consistently move massive numbers of LPs, most who faltered at this step never got a chance to recover. I watched and wrote about how some now famous acts ran this gauntlet successfully, like REM and Tears for Fears, and how some others did not and perished, like Big Country and Howard Jones.
-- And I was also, I am saddened to say, a snarky punk on occasion, a wise ass wanna-be with a smart mouth, cheap shots, and a pulpit:
Out of the same L.A. scene that has given us the new metal of Ratt, Motley Crüe, and Quiet Riot comes Armored Saint, last and deservedly least. Garbed in quasi-armor and studded leather, Armored Saint embodies all that is safe (and boring) in current metal.
Maybe — but they had a record contract, and I did not. My small-mindedness and jealousy taste pretty bad, even from this distance.
Some years ago, I asked Cindy Selfe, a preeminent scholar in Rhetoric and Writing Studies, what advice she would offer to professionals new to the field. Without missing a beat, she replied, “Be generous. Be generous with your time. Be generous with your attention. Be generous with your praise. It will always repay you handsomely.”
Since this website launched 27 days ago, I find I am making quite a few new friends, people from all over the world, people who are throwing themselves into their music in a focused and committed way, people just like me — and, I now realize, just like the young men in Armored Saint. I will be generous with them.