On hot air and why some albums or live performances do not need a review at all because the work is simply not sufficiently ready, another approach may be needed, or it is too obviously perfect to be considered in any way that diverges from praise. I kid you not.
Postcode envy
Leaving aside the matter of what difference will it make anyway, the shrug factor in other words — so what? — for early career players it is better just to mention or report about their work I suggest. They are not always ready to be assessed using the same criteria that their more experienced colleagues are considered on. It is a disservice ultimately to over-praise for the wrong reasons just because they, for instance, represent a postcode and media jazzers might well want to sell their grannies to live there and occasionally however illegally do.
How high is the moon, Ron?
It can get confusing as the “esteemed” jazz writer Ron Cockermouth, if memory serves me well, reviewing in the Waltham Forest Echo realised when he reflected on his early championing of the East 17 scene and lamented that the locals seemed to be more interested in their haircuts than getting to grips with ‘How High the Moon?’ — “Answer not very, it was a cloudy night,” I seem to remember the masterful conclusion of one of his more rebarbative award winning assessments of the phenomenon. And yet despite being showered with awards he was clearly in decline in that handily later dubbed “Good King Wenceslas” period of his career.
There is also the question of quality. I do not necessarily see much value in pointing out that the album is euphemistically “not that great”, unless the artist actually might benefit from straight talking. However, most artists do not shall we say welcome a bad review. Instead they just often dismiss the person or paper/magazine who have poo-pooed their efforts as an eejit or worse an eejit and a Tory.
“Fall in Love. All Over Again. With the Compilation”
Freedom of expression, which is already under threat given the pressure big corporations exert especially when they use blocking tactics or just buy shed loads of ads littered with exclamation marks to offset the consensus view that their records happen to be pants and indeed often secondhand smalls even if sold under the extensively hot desked if rather clunky slogan “Fall in Love. All Over Again. With the Compilation” made to look good under arc lights shone on the protective security grille in top of the range shrink wrap down the garage, is vital. Other very long sentences are available.
Unreviewable, file as un“unable”
For late career greats the same adjustment of criteria may well need to apply given that everything has already been said up to a point and more: again mentioning the new project or reporting at a concert is fine in such circumstances. In those contexts audiences arrive to deliver a standing ovation before a note of music is played; writers attend to celebrate not “criticise” when they write their analyses and that is usually all even if the great in question may not have the chops or voice that they once had and has entered the dreaded pre-perch falling thereof stage.
Serious bit
I do not want to deal with the thorny issue of “judging”. I think it is wrong to think that a critic is a “judge” out there first and foremost jogging and “judging”. I see the critic as more an observer first, a witness, forget about the jogging, second applicable depending on the momentousness of the occasion or not, a reporter third and someone who shares their opinions and justifies them as much as possible fourth. When there is interplay between musician, writer and reader then the factory of ideas is operating at full capacity and these ideas will then fly. SG