Material originally published in 1981, but my version for review purposes was 1990. I’d recognize that cover anywhere.
Here, as always, Robert Christgau states his opinions as facts and moves easily between fiercely positive and fiercely negative – with a vast rainbow of variations between the two.
He also writes better than most novelists. He can laud beauty as well as he can rip trash, and he can make at least one person’s answer to “What do you wanna be when you grow up?” become “I wanna be a rock critic!”.
In general, it IS far easier to destroy than to create. But Christgau’s reviews are often creations in themselves – tiny little blurbs of inspired yet seemingly offhand wonderfulness, even when they lay waste to more time-consuming “creative” efforts.
Some of the time I think he doesn’t have the slightest fcken idea what he’s talking about, but it’s telling that my reaction then is irritation instead of boredom.
He’ll teach you some useful words and phrases, he’ll piss you off, and (most importantly) he’ll make you grin devilishly at the perfect choice of words and phrasing that tears down X; which you knew was total sh1t all along but never could fully explain why.
Til now.
Grade: A