I would like to see the vast majority of prissy indie Pop driven screaming naked out into the wilderness. If any of their offspring ever do come back to us I trust they’ll sound more like the Jesus Lizard and less like Brian fucking Wilson.To that end, I can promise Siahalan: there are people working on it. It will take the paint off your car, and wreck your windshield too. Meanwhile, the esteemed Chris Richards bitchslapped the Schreiber famiglia the way we'd do in our most spitefun dreams:
Pitchfork has completed its slow morph into the Fox News of music journalism, consistently elevating the reputation of its brand over the quality of its criticism, disguising wildly conservative opinion as "edgy," routinely punishing artists who take risks, cultivating a stay-in-your-lane mentality so that the master narrative is easier to control, subsequently fostering a culture that prevents the Animal Collectives it supposedly reveres from ever getting out of the practice space.Granted, this is a more efficient iteration of what I've been arguing for the past five-plus years. This is no grand reveal: what business succeeds that isn't coldly agenda-driven? There's a reason why magnates, thieves, and hucksters die rich while artists die poor.
Art plus commerce make for a toxic marriage - this has gone without saying for nigh centuries. But there is something especially disgusting when these culture sculptors start fucking with our art retroactively: No Pussyfooting gets a 7.9 while the new Animal Collective gets a fucking 9.6? Are you fucking joking? History-doctoring and parameter architecture that would make Stalin proud, you Catholic-minded scum.
Anyway, some interesting thoughts about othering & wiring over at the Impostume that merit a proper reply, but any Big Think claptrap will have to wait until after the matinée...