From: owner-loud-fans-digest@smoe.org (loud-fans-digest) To: loud-fans-digest@smoe.org Subject: loud-fans-digest V2 #70 Reply-To: loud-fans@smoe.org Sender: owner-loud-fans-digest@smoe.org Errors-To: owner-loud-fans-digest@smoe.org Precedence: bulk loud-fans-digest Saturday, February 16 2002 Volume 02 : Number 070 Today's Subjects: ----------------- Re: [loud-fans] FUEL ["Pete O." ] [loud-fans] Pazz/Jop, RockRap, New Pornos, & The Reputation [GlenSarvad@a] [loud-fans] Jay Farrar and Brian Henneman @ 12th & Porter, Nashville, 2/15/02 (Pt. 1 of 3) [Miles Goosens Subject: Re: [loud-fans] FUEL - --- Jeffrey with 2 Fs Jeffrey wrote: > I've always thought it would be fun (although probably not really a good > idea) to name a band TBA...I notice that act gets a lot of bookings. > It's been done. I have a 12" single by a local (Toronto) band from 1982. I remember that they eventually changed their name because of poor attendance at their shows. If memory serves, it only improved marginally after the change. - - Yahoo! Sports - Coverage of the 2002 Olympic Games http://sports.yahoo.com ------------------------------ Date: Sat, 16 Feb 2002 10:46:40 EST From: GlenSarvad@aol.com Subject: [loud-fans] Pazz/Jop, RockRap, New Pornos, & The Reputation My primary (initial) reactions to the Voice list were as follows: 1) How defensive Christgau seems about its results; 2) How uncharacteristically "white" it looks; 3) How the Avalanches managed to build such a groundswell without my noticing; 4) How, even though I like it, I'm now convinced "White Blood Cells" is the most overrated record of the year, fast gaining on the Strokes in the hype competition. More interesting to me was the Rock & Rap Confidental poll disclosure. For one thing, I found it odd that they chose to release their results concrrent with Pazz/Jop (a pretty clear tweak), when they had an open path to do it sooner. And despite their attempts to be comprehensive/inclusive, for the second straight year the lists look remarkably similar. To venture into glenn mcdonald territory for a moment, for me this proves the concept of statistical sampling, and nearly renders the Rockrap poll irrelevant. (I was going to draw an analogy to the AP and CNN/USA Today College Football polls but realized the logic breaks down, as these sample two entirely different constituencies....) The comments re: Free Beer and Live reminded me of a recent embarrassing tale: I interviewed the New Pornographers for an Atlanta music monthly (the piece isn't current on the web, but I can forward a copy to anyone interested). As many of you probably know, the writer is typically not responsible for titling a piece. I was on a business trip last week, and I got an apprehensive voicemail from my wife: "Um, honey, did you know what Jeff was going to call your New Pornographers article?" I return home to find the title- "Live Fucking On Stage! The New Pornographers Are Here To Turn You On!" Right about now I'm trying to remember why I didn't adopt a pen name.... BTW, Thursday's show was packed (with a fair amount of competition in town) and I'll always wonder if any misguided souls were drawn by the headline. Finally, I've just learned that one of my personal faves, Elizabeth Elmore (late of Sarge) has a new band called the Reputation and is currently on tour, with an album to follow shortly. My only disappointment is that I was sitting in a hotel room in Columbus on the 13th with no knowledge of the show. Even in this Internet age, there must be a better way to get the word out.... Feb. 13 Columbus OH Bernie's w/ the Rye Coalition Feb. 14 Philly PA the Khyber w/ the Minx and the English System Feb. 15 Washington D.C. Black Cat w/ Cactus Patch and Gepetto Feb. 16 Richmond VA Hole in the Wall w/ Del Cielo Feb. 17 New York NY Brownie's w/ Sorry About Dresden (Saddle Creek Records) Feb. 18 Boston MA Middle East w/ Sorry about Dresden Feb. 19 Easthampton MA the Flywheel w/ Sorry about Dresden Feb. 20 Durham, NH University of NH - MUB w/ Sorry about Dresden Feb. 21 Rochester NY the Bug Jar w/ Tristeza and Arms Length Feb. 22 East Lansing MI the Chicken Shack Feb. 23 Chicago, IL Double Door w/ Verbow and Giant Step Feb. 26 Northwestern benefit for the International Journal of Human Rights March 1 Madison WI Univ of Wisconsin - Union South w/ Check Engine (Southern Records - ex-Sweep the Leg Johnny) March 3 Chicago, IL Fireside Bowl w/ Ok Go Mar 7 Milwaukee or Neenah WI??? Mar 8 Minneapolis MN 7th St. Entry Mar 9 Fargo, MN Ralph's w/ Anchorhead Mar 10 Minot or Williston ND Mar 11 Missoula MT Jay's Upstairs Mar 12 Seattle WA the Paradox w/ Mars Accelerator Mar 13 Eugene OR Mar 14 Portland OR the Blackbird w/ the Prom, the Velvet Teen and Captain vs. Crew Mar 15 Berkeley CA Gilman St. w/ 90 Day Men and Jonah's One Line Drawing Mar 16 Santa Barbara CA the Living Room Mar 20 Pomona CA the Glass House w/ Jonah's One Line Drawing Mar 21 Phoenix AZ Modified w/ the Sadies Mar 22 El Paso TX Cantina La Tuya w/ Agent Orange (yes - THAT agent orange!) Mar 23 Houston Mar 24 Austin TX - Mercury Lounge ------------------------------ Date: Sat, 16 Feb 2002 10:30:22 -0600 From: Miles Goosens Subject: [loud-fans] Jay Farrar and Brian Henneman @ 12th & Porter, Nashville, 2/15/02 (Pt. 1 of 3) Tonight, I did something for the first time. I walked out of a rock show before it was over. Tonight, I spent more time waiting for a show than I did watching it. Four and a half years ago, glenn mcdonald wrote "I am rapidly nearing the end of the phase of my life in which standing pressed in a crowd of sweaty college boys in baseball caps seems like a sensible way to experience live music." Ever since I read those words, I've been moved to quote it on many evenings spent in clubs pressed in a crowd of sweaty college boys in baseball caps. Tonight was my last time. I'm done -- not with quoting glenn's bon mot, but with evenings like this. I've had enough. I'm out. My longtime correspondents will note that my concert reviews have always included a fair amount about the crowds at shows. Most of those words about my fellow concert-goers have not been favorable. Don't get me wrong, not all crowds have been bad, and some have been exceptional. For example, the surprisingly knowledgeable and ecstatic packed house at Blur's '97 Nashville stop, Sutler denizens under the spell of one A. Scott Miller, everyone dancing in the rain at the 1989 Tennessee State Fair as the Pogues played through a downpour, and I'm sure I'm leaving some deserving crowds out. But far more often than not, other people at shows are simply something to be at best tolerated, at worst endured. There are the tall, oblivious people who wander around clubs and concert halls like lumbering Brontosauruses, obliterating the view of anyone too short to be an NBA power forward. There are the Music Industry Weasels and their arm candy, taking up space that could go to real fans. There are the aggressive drunks, out to put away as much liquor as possible in as short a time as possible, ready to fight anyone who dares look at them funny or tries to shush them so others can hear the show. There are the beer-swilling frat boys, who add a "world owes me a living" patina to the arrogance of the aforementioned aggressive drunks. There are the freak show refugees, whose overzealous fanboyism and utter lack of social graces lead them to truly heinous acts of devotion. In my nightmares I still see the rotund middle-aged guy from the adjoining table at last April's Lloyd Cole show (during the show, Lloyd archly referred to the gentlemen seated at this table as being "very Bear Magazine") who, closed-eyed, insisted on performing broad arm gesticulations that bordered on a sit-down interpretive dance routine. And if it's not him in my nightmares, it's the truly evil human who threatened to kill me at the Roxy Music show in Atlanta last July. Or the parade of drunk frat boys and sorority girls tripping over the Liberty Bowl's steps and falling into Melissa's back at U2's Memphis show in April 1997. Or maybe an unpleasant body odor wafting from a passerby will recall the distinctive goat-boy aroma of the dwarf-intensive crowd that packed 12th & Porter for last June's weekend of King Crimson shows. I'm sure, dear readers, you could add others to this roll call of ne'er-do-well concert denizens. But worst of all are the talkers. You've seen them, I'm sure. You've certainly heard them. I don't mean people who are simply trying to figure out what everyone in their group wants to drink before one of them makes a run for the bar. I don't mean the couple over to the side who whisper commentary to one another ever so often. I mean the people who don't give a damn about what's happening onstage, who probably can't even identify who's onstage, who insist on talking loudly to each other, often to the point where their volume rivals the volume of the P.A. system. Sometimes it's a pair, but usually it's a larger group, intent on socializing with and amusing each other, with no regard for anyone else who might be trying to -- imagine! -- ACTUALLY PAY ATTENTION TO THE PERFORMANCE. I always wonder why in the hell these people go to shows. If I wanted to gab with friends and quaff adult beverages, I can't think of a less likely venue than a place where music is playing at volumes so loud that you have to shout just to make yourself heard, where you have to pay anywhere from $5 to a c-note to gain entry, and where drinks are hideously overpriced. Yet there are usually a few concentrations of these people at any show, and at some they appear to be in the majority, or at least their prominence makes it seem that way. Sometimes I can tune them out, depending on their proximity to me and their volume. Sometimes I can make a mental adjustment, fading them into almost appropriate background noise, like I did on a sultry Chattanooga August night in 1999 during Wilco's "The Lonely 1." Since this quiet, plaintive song is about the tenuous connection between artist and fan as filtered through the white noise of crowds and the white light of camera flashes, the nature of the song itself transformed the chattering of the talkers and the clanking of beer bottles from a rude distraction into an essential texture. But don't get me wrong, it didn't work for the twenty-four other songs in the set. Thank goodness many of them were sufficiently loud to make the talking irrelevant. This was the same show where Jeff Tweedy dryly commented "Y'all sure like to talk." No matter whether I can make the adjustments or not, I'm always wondering what motivates these people to behave this way. Are they that egocentric? Do they not know that they might be impeding the enjoyment of people who are there to see the performers? Didn't their mothers teach them any manners? Is this the natural result of attention-deficit kids to whom it's second nature to juggle a Gameboy, a textbook, and a snack while both the TV and the radio are blaring in the background? Do they have so much money that they can fill their evenings with an endless, meaningless procession of drinks and shows, regardless of the tab? Do they just plain enjoy forcing their lives upon others? This way of behaving is so far beyond my ken that I've never gotten close to figuring it out. Why are they there? "Why are you here?" is what I said to the gaggle of talkers who surrounded us midway through Jay Farrar's set tonight, just before Melissa and I stormed down from 12th & Porter's balcony and out into the drizzle of a gloomy February evening in Nashville. (continued in next message) ------------------------------ Date: Sat, 16 Feb 2002 10:32:57 -0600 From: Miles Goosens Subject: [loud-fans] Jay Farrar and Brian Henneman @ 12th & Porter, Nashville, 2/15/02 (Pt. 3) From the opening note of the opening song, I could tell that tonight's *performance* would be something special. Farrar's choice for the first song was "Feedkill Chain," a highlight among highlights on his superb SEBASTOPOL. Farrar's first strum was met by an surging wail of feedback from the electric guitar of Mark Spencer, and *yowza!* chills went through my spine. One second into the show, and I was hooked for the night. Or I should have been. But anyway... Before the show, I had had my doubts about Farrar performing SEBASTOPOL's songs in this stripped-down format. Sure, I think SEBASTOPOL's songs themselves show more thought and originality than Farrar had put into his music since Son Volt's TRACE (i.e., three albums before SEBASTOPOL). However, a large part of what makes them special is the varied and imaginative arrangements that support Farrar's weary blare of a voice. Without all those instruments, I had feared that SEBASTOPOL's treasures would become merely Jay Farrar Songs #317 through 334. Instead, Spencer, he of the Blood Oranges, gave Jay's ruminative chords and elliptical adages all the support they'd need, and did it all by his lonesome. I don't throw around the term "virtuoso" loosely, but his playing was so adept that the word comes easily to mind. He knew when to concentrate on atmosphere, and when to transform atmosphere into sizzling, powerful leads, and his transition between the modes was effortless. His playing was amazing, whether on guitar, dulcimer, lap steel, or keyboards. Well, I'm extrapolating about his keyboard abilities, since we didn't last long enough to see the part of the set where he might have played keyboards. As the final roar of "Feedkill Chain" faded, more voices became audible to me. The aged-beyond-her-years bleached blonde bar hag and boyfriend had shoved forward to the edge of the balcony (actually, the balcony is less like a theater balcony and more like a very large pressbox in a high school gym, and you sit on barstools rather than on bench seats or seat seats, so add this layer of physical uncomfyness to the list of annoyances great and slight), and most of her chatter was no longer within earshot -- though her visage was unfortunately still within the range of peripheral vision. However, a new group of people had come upstairs to fill the void. They were the source of the new noises. This was another large group, with at least four men and three women. Their conversation indicated that they had selected 12th & Porter as tonight's main barhop stop. Initially, this new group kept in the aisle itself, to our left. During the next few songs, I was having more and more trouble concentrating on the music, as their conversation, beer-bottle clinking, and their yelling at the waitress added to the balcony's preexisting noise level. The noises around me were now competing with the sounds onstage. I had thought that The Large Group of People Who All Know Each Other But Weren't From Here were annoying enough, but several of their male members were actually paying some attention to the show. In contrast, the new gang didn't even seem to notice that there was a show going on. I could manage even this level of annoyance, even though it was now taking a conscious effort to do so. But that was before one of the new group's females emitted a shriek. Out of the corner of my left eye, I saw a flash of movement. When I turned my head, it looked like she had fallen into a hole. There used to be an entrance to the balcony on that corner, but it's now covered up with equipment cases, extra seats, and such like. Apparently one of these talkative lasses had placed her weight upon it. She hadn't fallen through the hole or injured herself, but her purse had gotten stuck somewhere among the various things that cover the hole. The aged-beyond-her-years bleached blonde bar hag came to the rescue with a lighter, which means that now out of the corner of my eye I had (1) a hubbub of activity, (2) shrieking, laughing, high-pitched voices cutting through the sound mix, and (3) flashes of light as people lit and snuffed their lighters to help the girl see. Finally, a white-shirted man stepped in among the gaggle-of-flailing-girl chaos. He worked diligently and systematically, and eventually fished out the purse. I think he must have done it just to put an end to all the yelling and flashing lights, since afterwards he went back to watching the stage intently. God bless him. Things were somewhat more settled now, returning only to the previous level of annoyance. But now my nerves were just about shot, and I had trouble getting my mind back into the music. While Farrar and Spencer were playing "Damn Shame," I was already thinking "it's a damn shame that I can't enjoy this show more because of all these damn talking idiots." I was also thinking that we might have done comparatively well if we had chosen to ingratiate ourselves with the Belligerent Behemoths and sat at their hard-won tables instead of at our present location. After all, while they may be belligerent drunken homophobes, there was no question that they had come to see the f&*^ing show. Man. When "Damn Shame" gave way to the next song -- it's lost in the haze of 3:30 AM as I type this, but I think it was "Damaged Son" -- I realized that now I could make out the entire conversation of the new group. I also realized that I could no longer hear the music. During the purse-in-the-hole shuffle, the men of the new group had filed from the side aisle to into our row, I guess to let their womenfolk have more room to flail ineffectually in their futile purse recovery efforts. But these guys never went back to where they were before. Now they surrounded us -- one still in the aisle but directly next to me on my left, and three more standing, strung behind the stools where Melissa and I were seated. So now their whole conversation was taking place *in our space.* They were speaking so loudly that each word obliterated any sound from the stage. Most of the conversation seemed to be comparing vacation plans for the year. Actual quotes include "I like the kind of vacation where *I* get to say what goes on, and *I* get to say where we go and what we do." Unlike the Man Mountains of earlier in the evening, these overgrown VandyKid types didn't look like they would stand a chance of enforcing these dictates, and they probably wouldn't have uttered these words had their wives and girlfriends not been huddled in their own piercingly loud conversation three feet away. Another section of this four-guy all-yelling-all-the-time conversation went thusly: "Huh, they're applauding for that guy!" "Which one's the one who writes the songs?" "Jay [amazingly, one of them knew a guy named Jay was playing!], the guy in the middle." "What middle?" "Huh?" "There's two guys onstage. There's no middle." "The one on the right. I think." "Right of what?" Sometimes, it's a good thing that I don't usually have a machete on me. Melissa had long since asked for her new purple coat (we had put it on the countertop to my left earlier in the evening, but when the gaggle of chatty women armed with drinks appeared, Melissa perceived her coat to be in danger and had me rescue it). Jay and Mark were playing something I really loved at this point -- maybe it was "Drain," but I had no way to hear a sufficiently long snatch of sound to make an ID with all this racket around us. Nevertheless, it was at this moment that I couldn't abide to be in this place one second longer. I whispered to Melissa that we had better leave because I couldn't take these people any more. She whispered back that she'd been ready to leave for a long time. I was ready too. I was tired of all these people. Tired of all the people who'd come before them. The ones who drowned out Tom Verlaine in 1988. The seat-skipping teenagers at Tom Petty in 1999. The Music Industry Weasel who told his I'm Only With A Guy Like You Because You're A Music Industry Weasel date "I don't know who he is, but I'm told he's a Knopfleresque guitarist" before Richard Thompson's 1989 Exit/In set. The short fat-assed woman at the 1998 Prince show who couldn't see over the people in front of her, so she stood on her chair and blocked the view of the next fifteen rows. I was bone-weary of paying to see and hear artists I love, but ending up only hearing the babble of idle scenesters and only seeing the greasy heads of towering ballcap boys. I wanted to make these assholes behind me pay for all these sins, even the ones they hadn't committed. But I didn't. Sometimes not being a Belligerent Behemoth in inclination, physique, or fighting skill really, really sucks. So we got up. As I turned to walk down the row and toward the steps, I couldn't keep my mouth shut. I looked the two guys behind me straight in the eyes and said "Why are you here?" I didn't give these guys much time to answer the question before we left, but I did catch the look in their eyes. They were puzzled. Utterly perplexed. Maybe they'd never thought about it. Maybe I wasn't the only one who didn't know. later, Miles ------------------------------ Date: Sat, 16 Feb 2002 10:33:43 -0600 From: Miles Goosens Subject: [loud-fans] Jay Farrar and Brian Henneman @ 12th & Porter, Nashville, 2/15/02 (Pt. 2) This was an evening that didn't begin well. We arrived at the club around 8 PM, a half-hour earlier than usual, because the times given in the advertising for the latest 12th & Porter shows were doors at 8:30, show at 9:30 instead of the club's customary doors at 9, show at 10. 12th & Porter is half restaurant, half club, and you enter on the restaurant side, where a very heavy door guards the club until an hour before showtime. Concert lines often wind around tables near the restaurant's bar. When we walked in, there was only one person who seemed to be standing in front of the door queued up for the show, so we walked past the window tables and got in line behind him. It was only mildly inconvenient when he turned out to be the spearhead for a group of six who proceeded to wedge themselves between him and us. Things didn't become truly irritating until a behemoth of a guy shoved his way past us and into this group of people, asking where the will-call window was. There is no will-call window -- 12th & Porter recently started selling online tickets to some of their shows, but really what happens is that the "will call" names appear on a printout at the doorperson's desk. But when this man-mountain was informed of how it worked and that he'd just have to wait until the door opened, he didn't move. Instead, he yelled at the bartender for another beer and waved over *another* steroid-injected offensive line refugee, who also wedged himself into what was now a precariously overstuffed space. The twin towers then proceeded to talk about how some guy on the Postcard2 list called some other guy on the list "a queer and a fag," and their tone was entirely approving. After hastily downing the beers in hand, they asked the bartender for another round, and when they received it, the first behemoth said to the other "Did you see how he [the bartender] did that? That asshole. I'm going to kick his f*&^ing ass." Behemoth #2 replied "Yeah, if he does that again, we'll jump his ass right after the show." I watched the entire transaction, and the bartender simply fetched their beers, told them what they owed, took their money, and gave them change -- no lip, no insulting tone, no provocation whatsoever. While these massive lunkheads quaffed several more rounds of beer and laid a plan for seizing a table each once they gained admission into the club ("You grab one, and I'll grab one, and we'll kick anyone's ass who tries to make us move"), I noticed that they weren't the only out-of-town people in line. A lot of people seemed to be at the club for the first time, and many of them seemed to know each other. I never established if the two Jay Farrar shows -- he's playing here tomorrow night, in addition to this show - -- have become some sort of Jay Farrar List (is there such a thing?) gathering and/or Postcard2 confab, but something was definitely going on. When the doors finally opened, it wasn't at 8:30 but at 8:55, which meant not only that we were squeezed in beside the Human Himalayas for an extra half-hour, but we had to endure them adding "it's eight-f&^%ing-45 and if the door doesn't open, I'm going to kick someone's f&^%ing ass" to their litany of threatened ass-kicking. When we paid our money and looked for seats (we ended up being, um, maybe 12th and 13th in line after the group and the Wooden Mammoths were admitted), we passed by the stairs to the balcony to see if there were any floor-level seats. A waitress asked us if we had reservations, we said "no," and she informed us that all the tables were reserved. At some point in 2001, venerable and intrepid club booker John Bruton had quit allowing table reservations, and even though all the tables were reserved at the Owsley show several weeks ago, we hadn't thought anything of it since the event was obviously so Friends-And-Family-of-Owsley-heavy. Had we known that John had reversed his policy, we would have reserved a table. *Standing* on floor level isn't really an option, given the sometimes-testy nature of Melissa's knees and ankles, so we headed upstairs to the balcony. In the time it took for us to find out that we wouldn't be sitting at a table, the first row of the balcony had filled up with one of those Large Groups of People Who All Knew Each Other But Weren't From Here. We had to take a second-row seat (there are three rows total), which meant that anyone *standing* on the first row would probably block our view. Not that Jay Farrar shows are visual extravaganzas -- trust me, no concert review will ever begin with "the charismatic Jay Farrar" -- but we did want to *see* the show as well as hear it. (As you've already surmised, hearing and seeing were to become impossible as the evening wore on.) The Large Group of People Who All Knew Each Other But Weren't From Here that sat directly in front of us weren't really such bad neighbors, though. They were very excited to see each other, more and more of them kept migrating to the balcony to talk to the ones who were already seated in front of us, they ordered a ton of food and drinks which kept them and a waitress in constant motion, and they did talk to each other a lot. But they spoke mostly in conversational tones that didn't drown out the P.A. Since opening act Brian Henneman (of Bottle Rockets fame) performed acoustically, and Jay Farrar wielded only his acoustic guitar and had a mere single accompanist (more on him later), conversations stood a much greater chance of drowning out the performance than if either artist had been at full electric tilt. So this Large Group emitted a steady hubbub, which though it added a layer of annoyance, would have been easily ignored if it was the only source of sonic distraction. Henneman strolled out not at the promised 9:30 but after 10 PM. We might as well have kept to our usual schedule, since that's what the club did. His smartly-played set featured several new songs slated for the forthcoming new Bottle Rockets album, and if they're any indication, the new release will easily top its predecessor (the subpar -- and subParr -- BRAND NEW YEAR). I was surprised that Henneman solo/acoustic guitar work was all riffing and rhythm guitar, since in the Bottle Rockets' usual electric format and as Wilco's lead guitarist on A.M., his solos absolutely smoke. Regardless, Henneman's set was mightily entertaining. Or at least I think it was, since added to the comings and goings and chit-chat in front of us was a new layer of annoyance: an aged-beyond-her-years bleached-blonde bar hag appeared in the aisle next to our seats, and she began complaining loudly to her date about how Henneman "was terrible" and "sucked." She yapped constantly during his set, and greeted each song ending with edifying exclamations like "JEEZUS, is he done yet?" She also asked her date if "the next guy" was going to suck as badly as Henneman. He answered "Jay Farrar is much better, trust me." At least he knew who was playing. I looked at this woman more than once to assure myself that it wasn't the same aged-beyond-her-years bleach-blonde bar hag who came up to the balcony during the aforementioned Owsley show and who proceeded to gab loudly to her friends while screeching out "OWWWWWWWZZZ-LEEEEEEEEE! OWWWWWWWWZZZ-LEEEEEEEEE!" after every song (she didn't know who he was when she came in, but once told, she was amused to no end by his name). Turns out that Nashville has at least *two* aged-beyond-her-years loudmouthed bar hags. Who would have guessed? Between sets, what seemed like seventeen more people milled in and out of The Large Group of People Who All Knew Each Other But Weren't From Here, and this section became crowded enough that a couple of the guys -- gentlemen that they were, they gave up their seats to their ladies -- decided to stand right in front of us. I sort of felt sorry for the blonde guy whose equally blonde girlfriend proceeded to hobnob with two other guys for the rest of the time we were there. When Jay and accompanist made their way to the stage twenty minutes after Henneman left it (I never understand this either -- if the opening act is solo/acoustic and there's nothing to break down or set up, why the hell doesn't the next act just come on out? I guess the bar needs to sell more drinks), it created a situation where Melissa and I had to crane our necks and adjust our positions continually, since these guys kept shifting on their feet. If they decided to exchange a few words with each other, we couldn't see anything but the backs of their heads. (continued in next message) ------------------------------ Date: Sat, 16 Feb 2002 13:37:57 -0500 From: "glenn mcdonald" Subject: RE: [loud-fans] Pazz/Jop, RockRap, New Pornos, & The Reputation > To venture into glenn mcdonald territory for a moment, for me this proves > the concept of statistical sampling, and nearly renders the Rockrap poll > irrelevant. The R&RC web site only posts the bare results of the poll, and I haven't seen the printed issue yet, so maybe there's something interesting there. I *thought* the R&RC poll's primary claim to superiority was that it surveyed a wider population, in numbers and demographics and geography. A few of us here can testify, at least, that you can volunteer to vote in the R&RC poll and they appear happy to have you, while getting to vote in the P&J requires an invitation from Christgau or Eddy. The R&RC poll also makes a point of saying that it's "International", implying that the P&J is myopically American. The point of all this, and of there being a second poll at all, is that polling more and different people will produce different results. The P&J poll is a rancid coagulation of cliquish music-hating blowhards' bullshit posturing, and the R&RC poll is a grassroots canvasing of independent-minded music lovers' passionate beliefs. Finally we can find out what the *real* good music was last year. And maybe in the first two or three years of the R&RC poll that really happened. But either as a response to the R&RC poll or as a result of its own evolution, the P&J has grown. Back in 1995, when Marsh was presumably starting to distrust the P&J, it had about 275 voters. The R&RC poll at one point proudly claimed to be the largest music poll running, but I don't think it ever more than doubled the P&J's size. In 1997 the P&J expanded to 441, in 1998 to 496, in 2000 to 586. The 2000 R&RC poll didn't say how many voters were involved, but it only had 4901 votes, so I'm guessing it was actually slightly smaller than the P&J. This year, the disparity is dramatic, and reversed: the R&RC poll had 3640 votes cast, the P&J more than 6000. And given how easy it is for new R&RC voters to create themselves, it's very hard for me to see this trend as anything but the R&RC poll's precipitous decline. Barring heroic resuscitation efforts, I predict it won't last three more years. Which isn't to say anything Marsh accused the P&J of was wrong. It's a god-awful mess. Predicatable, safe, banal, ill-informed, etc. Almost nobody who follows music with any kind of enthusiasm will learn anything from the top 10. But on these grounds, the R&RC poll is no better. In fact, it's the same. Within narrow statistical tolerances, its results are *exactly* the same. I don't know why this should surprise anybody. You don't form a distinctly different voting population by announcing that you're going after the same audience but you're just being a little more inclusive about it. If you want a different population, you have to do something drastic. Go to another country, for example (the Canadian Eye poll's top 10 reliably includes a couple of Canadian artists that don't appear on either American poll; so much for the R&RC's "international"). Change the structure or methodology. Recruit differently. R&RC doesn't do that, so of course they end up the same. But I think it was a dumb exercise to begin with. The antidote to collective mediocrity isn't different collectives, it's individuality. The good part of the P&J, as I wrote last year, is that they let you explore it. The top 40 is inevitably banal; individual ballots are almost invariably fascinating. The online format is intelligently devised to facilitate browsing: albums link to critics link to albums, so you can wander from vote to voter to vote seeing all the interesting things that the raw tally doesn't reflect. R&RC publishes a flat, boring, useless list. I conclude, from that fact and all the others, that they don't really care. I won't miss them. Yours from "glenn mcdonald territory", glenn mcdonald ------------------------------ Date: Sat, 16 Feb 2002 15:01:54 EST From: GlenSarvad@aol.com Subject: [loud-fans] Re: Pazz/Jop, RockRap I realize there's hyperbole at work here, but I don't understand why the P&J triggers such vitriol. Anything that winds up getting positioned as the "poll of record" is bound to take some slings and arrows, but aside from a brief early 90s flirtation with the Ajax poll I haven't found another that's more sympatico with my tastes. And if it were less "elitist" it would mean more correlation with the Billboard charts, not more Paula Carino and Ken Stringfellow. If forced to take sides, I'd firmly align with the P&J camp. Grand mission statements aside, I can't see a raisin d'etre for the Rockrap poll other than to annoy P&J and to attempt to gather some publicity. I'm an occasional Rockrap reader (and former subscriber), but I find their politics (which often overshadow the music) to be so knee-jerk leftist as to forfeit any chance at constructive change. glenn@furia.com writes: > The point > of all this, and of there being a second poll at all, is that polling > more and different people will produce different results. The P&J poll > is a rancid coagulation of cliquish music-hating blowhards' bullshit > posturing, and the R&RC poll is a grassroots canvasing of > independent-minded music lovers' passionate beliefs. Finally we can find > out what the *real* good music was last year. Return-Path: Received: from rly-za02.mx.aol.com (rly-za02.mail.aol.com [172.31.36.98]) by air-za02.mail.aol.com (v83.35) with ESMTP id MAILINZA29-0216133616; Sat, 16 Feb 2002 13:36:16 -0500 Received: from chmls20.mediaone.net (chmls20.ne.ipsvc.net [24.147.1.156]) by rly-za02.mx.aol.com (v83.35) with ESMTP id MAILRELAYINZA22-0216133549; Sat, 16 Feb 2002 13:35:49 -0500 Received: from amalia (edera.ne.mediaone.net [24.218.251.42]) by chmls20.mediaone.net (8.11.1/8.11.1) with SMTP id g1GIbvx23069; Sat, 16 Feb 2002 13:37:58 -0500 (EST) From: "glenn mcdonald" To: , Subject: RE: [loud-fans] Pazz/Jop, RockRap, New Pornos, & The Reputation Date: Sat, 16 Feb 2002 13:37:57 -0500 Message-ID: <008901c1b719$0dc03410$2afbda18@ne.mediaone.net> MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1" Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-Priority: 3 (Normal) X-MSMail-Priority: Normal X-Mailer: Microsoft Outlook 8.5, Build 4.71.2173.0 In-Reply-To: <93.183d9aa7.299fd8e0@aol.com> Importance: Normal X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V5.50.4807.1700 > To venture into glenn mcdonald territory for a moment, for me this proves > the concept of statistical sampling, and nearly renders the Rockrap poll > irrelevant. The R&RC web site only posts the bare results of the poll, and I haven't seen the printed issue yet, so maybe there's something interesting there. I *thought* the R&RC poll's primary claim to superiority was that it surveyed a wider population, in numbers and demographics and geography. A few of us here can testify, at least, that you can volunteer to vote in the R&RC poll and they appear happy to have you, while getting to vote in the P&J requires an invitation from Christgau or Eddy. The R&RC poll also makes a point of saying that it's "International", implying that the P&J is myopically American. The point of all this, and of there being a second poll at all, is that polling more and different people will produce different results. The P&J poll is a rancid coagulation of cliquish music-hating blowhards' bullshit posturing, and the R&RC poll is a grassroots canvasing of independent-minded music lovers' passionate beliefs. Finally we can find out what the *real* good music was last year. And maybe in the first two or three years of the R&RC poll that really happened. But either as a response to the R&RC poll or as a result of its own evolution, the P&J has grown. Back in 1995, when Marsh was presumably starting to distrust the P&J, it had about 275 voters. The R&RC poll at one point proudly claimed to be the largest music poll running, but I don't think it ever more than doubled the P&J's size. In 1997 the P&J expanded to 441, in 1998 to 496, in 2000 to 586. The 2000 R&RC poll didn't say how many voters were involved, but it only had 4901 votes, so I'm guessing it was actually slightly smaller than the P&J. This year, the disparity is dramatic, and reversed: the R&RC poll had 3640 votes cast, the P&J more than 6000. And given how easy it is for new R&RC voters to create themselves, it's very hard for me to see this trend as anything but the R&RC poll's precipitous decline. Barring heroic resuscitation efforts, I predict it won't last three more years. Which isn't to say anything Marsh accused the P&J of was wrong. It's a god-awful mess. Predicatable, safe, banal, ill-informed, etc. Almost nobody who follows music with any kind of enthusiasm will learn anything from the top 10. But on these grounds, the R&RC poll is no better. In fact, it's the same. Within narrow statistical tolerances, its results are *exactly* the same. I don't know why this should surprise anybody. You don't form a distinctly different voting population by announcing that you're going after the same audience but you're just being a little more inclusive about it. If you want a different population, you have to do something drastic. Go to another country, for example (the Canadian Eye poll's top 10 reliably includes a couple of Canadian artists that don't appear on either American poll; so much for the R&RC's "international"). Change the structure or methodology. Recruit differently. R&RC doesn't do that, so of course they end up the same. But I think it was a dumb exercise to begin with. The antidote to collective mediocrity isn't different collectives, it's individuality. The good part of the P&J, as I wrote last year, is that they let you explore it. The top 40 is inevitably banal; individual ballots are almost invariably fascinating. The online format is intelligently devised to facilitate browsing: albums link to critics link to albums, so you can wander from vote to voter to vote seeing all the interesting things that the raw tally doesn't reflect. R&RC publishes a flat, boring, useless list. I conclude, from that fact and all the others, that they don't really care. I won't miss them. Yours from "glenn mcdonald territory", glenn mcdonald ------------------------------ End of loud-fans-digest V2 #70 ******************************