Earlier this year, on my Twitter feed, I said something to the effect of “I can think of no argument against Demi Lovato’s music career.” It was a statement I thought twice about making publicly, and honestly, if I had been standing in a room full of music critics, I’m not sure I would have said it, at least not without an open bar. You see, even though a lot of the stereotypes about us writer types aren’t true — we don’t all look like Elvis Costello, and we aren’t all bitter, failed musicians — you’ll probably always be able to make at least one sadly broad generalization about rock critics: A lot of us worry far too much about how we’re perceived by our peers and readers. As has been pointed out countless times (usually by people who are pissed off that their favorite band gets shitty reviews), there’s an absurd level of groupthink among music critics, and there always has been — and the Internet has, if anything, made it worse, because now, instead of having to type out and mail a letter to Rolling Stone or a local newspaper, all it takes to grind your axe is typing out an anonymous comment.
Anyway, back to young Miss Lovato. I have the good fortune of being too old to worry much about my hipness quotient — and when I was younger, I was dumb enough to think writing four-star reviews of Toto and Bruce Willis records was the epitome of brave iconoclasm — but I’m still aware of the rock-crit parameters: There are acts that have cred, and those that don’t, and never the twain shall meet. I can’t pretend this hasn’t colored my outlook at least a little, and I think any writer who denies the same is either a liar or delusional; this is why, when we hear that one of the designated uncool bands has a new album coming out, we know it’s okay to mock it without hearing it. This isn’t what we’re supposed to do — it flies in the face of a discipline grounded in the idea that art can be appraised at least semi-objectively — but deep in the heart of most critics is a scrawny middle school kid who desperately wants to be cool, and stepping out of line is not what we do best.
I suppose the above paragraphs make it sound like I’m presenting myself as a brave exception to the rule, but I’m not. If I do step out of line, it’s because I’m not Chuck Klosterman or Rob Sheffield, and I don’t have much cred to damage; I’ve been fortunate enough to build a certain level of mild renown on the Web, but not enough to have to worry about scores of negative comments from people who think my work sucks — and perhaps more importantly, my livelihood doesn’t hinge on creating the impression that I have cutting-edge taste. If paying my bills meant acting like a big Menomena fan, then I have to be honest — that’s probably what I’d do, even though I’d suck at it and hate myself, and — here’s where I get to the point of this whole post — I would certainly never admit to not being able to come up with an argument against the Fray’s self-titled sophomore effort. (more…)
