New shit has come to light, man

After hours of mulling, fingers gently rubbing the barely post-pubescent stubble on my chin, I have chosen to call myself out--in a way.

So a few weeks ago I posted about my disdain for the year-end list. It was quite possibly the most obvious and inane thing I've ever written (don't count that Best Buy entry--it has been disowned but not deleted), but--to quote some famous St. Charles residents--I got angst. I turned into the 14-year-old LiveJournal devotee and I put my angst into words and likely made a fool of myself.

Maybe I'm going too far, because I'm not trying to discredit myself completely. Like many people, the year-end lists annoy me like nothing else. After the flood of personal year-end lists on people's Audioscrobbler journals and half-assed blogs (I follow these both very closely so I can justify my existence), I got tired of lists with no backing because I simply don't care. In fact, even lists with backing started to piss me off.

Where I erred was in my discussion of the flaw of the list concept, because I'd be a hypocrite and a liar if I said that I don't regularly read and subscribe to certain lists--I'm often a whore for them, in fact. See, here's my a little scope into my music tastes: I have an immature fear of being ignorant. The fear that maybe somewhere, at some point in the near future, some great almighty pop culture and music god will come down and demand: "MY SON... HAVE YOU OR HAVE YOU NOT HEARD THE LATEST OFFERING FROM XIU XIU?"...."wait, wait, i gotta switch to lowercase... you're kidding me, right?"..."wow."...."yeah, you heard me, you're fucking banish-ed."

It's great and all that people recognize the significance of certain music in respect to themselves, but it really is of no interest to me. What does often interest me is the comprehensive list--the one where a good chunk of (hopefully) respectable opinions are combined to define the greatest and the most essential of a certain time period (particularly the past). As I mentioned in the previous passage, I know music, but I don't know all of it, and while knowledge of a high volume of music is near-impossible, there's always someone who knows more than me. It's through these comprehensive lists that I deduce that if an album has affected so many people over such a period of time, it just might affect me too.

I guess the real question here is, "Why should I trust a critic?," and that I don't think I can answer. Then again, what have we learned from Gallup-style opinion polls? You guessed it--"Hybrid Theory" is the greatest album of all time. I suppose this all means that this inner circle of critics, musicians and obsessed music fans are really the only ones "that get it." I want to say that is complete bullshit, but... I guess some people really do just "know."

So, lists... can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em. Proposition (GASP!): We hold an election of all the people that get it, each "I get it person" writes a top ten, and every five years we re-evaluate our "Best Albums of the (Insert Decade)" lists. Then I go to the record store. It's that simple.


Oh, and about that podcast... now that I actually have an excuse (headphones broke), I'll give you the "keep cool, my babies!" for now.

Fear and loathing in List Vegas

My music geekdom is something I have gradually taught myself to stash away from the generally indifferent public, but when inadvertently triggered it can get out of hand.

Case in point: a few weeks ago, I was shopping around Belmont with a few friends. Once we hit the record store, I decided to tone down my obsessive scouring routine since I was under the impression these friends wanted to simply look around for five minutes and leave. Then one of them pointed at a Wolf Parade poster. “I can’t wait to go to that show.” I was toast.

“You’re seeing Wolf Parade?” I asked, shocked. “Yeah, that New Year’s Eve Pitchfork show," he said. "I sat at two computers with the Ticketmaster site up when they went on sale.”

Wolf Parade: Canadian as fuck.

Even when we left, I periodically made it known how much I loved the band and how jealous I was that they were seeing them. It was an indirect hope that I could endlessly babble with these people about music—especially since I had no idea their music tastes resembled mine in any way.

They mostly avoided going more in-depth, so I kept to myself until we got back to their apartment. Once again I gushed, “Man, I can’t believe you guys are going to that show… Wolf Parade is great.” “Yeah, I really like their style,” one of them said. “We are very excited.”

I continued. “I love their album. ‘I’ll Believe In Anything’ has been one of my favorite songs of the year.” A seemingly harmless comment, I thought. “Of the year?” she remarked. One of my other friends laughed. I realized at that point that my obsession ratio highly exceeded theirs. Who the hell thinks of great music in the scope of a year? Oh well, it was a good run.

She was right, in a way: Why do music nerds have to put up with all this year-in-review list bullshit? The comment made me out to be some sort of Rain Man music fan, thinking only in terms of years, filing my music nicely, and buying my boxer shorts only at K-Mart. It’s an excuse for publications to set aside one of their issues early on in the planning stages—a mindless freebie that requires little creativity and objectivity that has now become arbitrary (except for that one silly oddball list—you know, “The Top 5 Best Songs That May or May Not Be About Toaster Repair!!”)

Can’t we wait, for chrissakes? Sometimes I’m perhaps a little too outspoken about the VH1-ization of our culture, but it has infiltrated my and the greater society’s method of thinking. Just because everyone else has their lists about the best albums of whatever time period, genre, country, state, township displayed as fact doesn’t mean they even listened to the best music of that specificity. There’s always an album so great that people don’t realize its genius until years later (see Neutral Milk Hotel, Pinkerton). And, as "duh" as this sounds, music means different things to different people--Face the Truth may personally relate to me, whereas someone else may think Stephen Malkmus is a pansy. So why should I care about everyone's personal top ten?

This caption writes itself.

All lists cause is controversy. “You totally snubbed The National in there,” “Are you serious? Bright Eyes at #5? More like Whiny Bitch Eyes,” “Kanye West doesn’t care about white people,” etc. I understand their draw to publications, because people like to argue, watch arguments and read about arguments, and hence they pay for said arguments. Plus, it’s convenient. But call it obvious, idealistic, trite, stupid, whatever—I don’t want to think in terms of lists anymore. I want to think in terms of--well, I don't know. I just want to like what I like without making a pecking order out of it.

So I guess I don't have a solution. Seeing as I’m only 19, year-end lists are easier for me to dismiss because I’m still unearthing music from the past and haven’t really zeroed-in on my tastes fully. In fact, maybe one day in the future I will have listened to everything there is and my only cure for boredom will be to make one of these lists at the end of the year. I’m predicting and praying this day will be sometime around December 21^st, 2012, but I may be off a bit—I’m working with a Mayan calendar…in which case this article would be referring to the best music of the year 4702, I believe. BUT I DIGRESS!!

With that said, my "End-of-the-Year Extravaganza!" podcast will be posted within the week.

(I could bite off more than I can chew here by getting into the “who really has credibility as a music critic?” but I think it’s better illustrated here.)