Confessions of a Fanboy

I’m used to writers’ block in its many forms. It usually occurs when my crippling lack of self-confidence blindsides me. I wish I could say this is a rare occurrence for me, but history suggests otherwise.

I went through a different form of writers’ block during the writing of Tuatara review. Part of the blockage is specific to the record itself, and I addressed that in the review. The other part stems from a string of e-mails exchanged just as I was about to write my review. I won’t namedrop but these e-mails were with someone close to the Tuatara project. This brief exchange caused me to reflect on the art of the review.

What follows is a bit of navel gazing about writing, reviewing, balance, and the secrets of life…

There are so many ways to evaluate, consider, critique, and experience a record, but is there a single right way to approach it?

I can’t imagine there is, but I wonder if some ways are better than others? This aforementioned e-mail conversation made me reflect on whether my approach is the best one, or if it’s even a good one. How should a critic approach the subject? What questions need to be answered? What philosophy should one have? Keeping an open mind is part of the equation, but where do you go after that? How does this album stand against others by the artist? Should an album be considered as a standalone, or should it be considered in the context of an artist’s overall body of work? Is it possible for one album to be better than another? Even if this is possible, does it matter if this album is or isn’t better than this other? How does it compare to “similar” artists?

These are the types of questions I often consider when I listen to a record and when I review it. I have an insane competitive streak that runs through me I almost always think in comparative terms. Those questions are interesting and are worth considering. There’s value in the comparative approach because it gives a reader a reference point even if one doesn’t believe in objective evaluation of music and the concept of good music versus bad music. They can help form the basis of an thoughtful review, but there are limits to where the answers to those questions can take you.

They aren’t the only questions to consider and aren’t even the most important ones. The most important questions about an album have little to do with what came before or after it. Does an album touch, please, inspire, explain, or confront the listener? Does it challenge the listener, or it is clanging cymbals and empty noise that leaves the listener poorer and dumber?

I’ve been known to start writing the opening paragraphs to a review in my head after hearing the first few bars of the first song on an album. Talk about jumping the gun. When I get that far ahead of myself, I’m not considering the music on its own merits but am instead caught in the trap of trying to compare it to everything else. What matters most is what the album is trying to say and how well it says it, and these e-mails helped remind me of that. It may seem obvious, but it’s easy to forget to just shut up and listen.

Life happens so fast and its hard not to want to keep pace with it. It’s so easy to be focusing on the next big thing without taking time to enjoy the here and now. The process of reviewing East of the Sun reminded me once again of the need for balance. I think I have a better understanding of how it feels to be out of balance, and when I close my eyes I think I remember how sublime symmetry feels. I know I’ll forget all of this and find I’m out of whack either because I’ve lost my balance or because my self-doubts have returned to shank me in my sleep. I haven’t learned the secret of staying in balance, but somehow I always find my way back to it, at least for a time. Look at that! I’ve even learned to balance my imbalance. Maybe I’m better at this than I thought! Or not. For now, I’m going to enjoy the feeling… and the record.

East of the Moon is in stores now. West of the Moon will follow in September.

Filed under: Tags: Barrett Martin, Fanboy Manifesto, Tuatara