The other night I was talking with Jade about how I used to be a music writer, and how when The Dears started to get serious, I found myself unable to write about music. It was a dilemma: who did I think I was, having the right to critique other people’s music? What would my rating scale be? Would everything be compared to The Dears (obviously the best band ever)? Doesn’t that guy from Death Cab write about music? But it forces the questions: What effect does that have on the conscience? Would it cause sleepless nights? Or painful confrontations after shows or during soundcheck? I was inspired when I heard Alex Kapranos from Franz Ferdinand had a column of restaurant reviews from a touring musician’s perspective. That’s genius! At any rate, here I am, surrounded by musicians and friends and strangers putting out records and I’m torn: should I review them? Well, I think I’m going to do it. I’m diving back in, head first, eyes closed, into shallow water. Please let me know if I’ve lost it completely.
P.S. Something I hate is how music writers make album reviews somehow about themselves. It fails to show any professionalism, especially when these kinds of reviews appear in reputable, influential media (I’m struggling to bite my tongue and not give references!). That said, this is not a reputable media source, so I grant myself license to write about myself when talking about music.