Jon James: Blog

When I was a kid, album reviews were the first thing I thumbed through when Rolling Stone arrived in the mail. Today, I still like to visit sites like Pitchfork and Lost at Sea. In the music biz, it’s an oft-cited mantra: “reviews don’t sell records.” Perhaps that’s true, but they certainly keep one in-the-know about what’s current and hopping – and, personally speaking, even if they don’t drive me directly to purchase, I have absolutely no doubt they shape my listening habits and inclinations in the larger scheme.

In fact, years back, I even did my own critical stint as a writer for a certain Austin, TX-based music publication. Now, I won’t sit here and pretend what I wrote served as some crucial taste-making barometer for its reading audience. I will tell you I verbally tore down more than a couple CD releases and, for that, have probably incurred a good dose of shitty karma for some time yet to come.

Elvis Costello, in characteristically abstruse manner, said, “writing about music is like dancing about architecture.” I always liked that. While I enjoy reading about music, I sometimes wonder how many writers truly understand what bands & musicians endure to get from point A to point B in the creative process. There is so much that transpires emotionally, logistically and in any number of other causes, effects and categories life has to throw one’s way. Being the end of that procedural line, a record album hopefully represents a distillation of sorts; even so, it’s impossible to separate that final product from the larger context. And yet, that’s what music commentators are charged with doing. CDs are plunked on desks; summations must be wrought, and verdicts submitted with casual swiftness. Deadlines loom, after all.

For my part, experience on both sides of that fence has imbued in me (I hope) a largely non-critical stance toward music in general. Most anyone who picks up an instrument, pens a line or dares to stand poised before God-only-knows-how-many potential detractors has my respect. To regard that lightly is to do disservice to not just them but also myself. I am finding there is always something to learn, and even if that something serves as confirmation about what I don’t wish to do, it’s nonetheless of value. I shall not name names, but thank you, Dave Matthews.

These days, with rise of the blogosphere, everyone’s a critic. Anyone can set up his/her own page and have a virtual field day. Hell, look at me. What precisely am I doing here anyways?

Well, in addition to being generally long-winded, I have this very specific interest in writing songs. And, as often happens to be the case with us music types, those songs get trafficked to various media outlets in hopes of garnering a little positive feedback or generating a little buzz. It’s nice to be recognized, I suppose. Better than being ignored. Believe me, when it comes to the latter, there is an expanse of experience from which I speak.

I’ve heard it said among A&E types that one should never read what critics have to say about them. And there is a clear reason for that: sting.

The initial critical responses my first CD received were not positive. And I’m here to tell you, I allowed that to sting me like a sonofabitch. Scenario: 1.) fellow pours a lot of heart & soul into something, not to mention time, money and other sundry sacrifice; 2.) fellow gets hung out to dry. Never pretty.

In a sense though, that criticism stung most because, deep down, I agreed it was correct. It had merit. It was insightful. It called me on the flaws. Touché.

Someone more opinionated and self-congratulatory than myself might have been able to shake that off and continue unhindered. Never mind how most every review that followed was generally rosy or flattering, affirming any possible merit I’d originally believed the songs to have. No. Those initial, decisive words stuck with me. Backed into a corner, I immediately set to work fixing what was wrong. Call me pliable. Weak-kneed.

Brought into this world as a less-than-thick-skinned sort, I was a sensitive and shy child hesitant to offer voice about much of anything. I’m still ambivalent about opinion; the fact that I’m even bothering to do a whopping second blog entry is, at present, utterly boggling. Nowadays, as for “sensitivity,” I dare say no one would venture throwing that accusation my way. I’ve learned to be brusque. It’s an adaptive response, an adopted persona.

One might argue it’s not a musician’s place to respond openly to criticism. Politicians do it as a matter of course. They don’t actually say anything, but they do it. Scholars do it. Researchers and scientists do it. They need to defend theory and methodology vis-à-vis their peers and the community at large. Their professions thrive on precisely that sort of dialogue. But musicians? Perhaps there is too much at stake, especially at higher levels. Images to protect and such.

Luckily, I don’t have that to worry about.

So you won’t mind me telling you about the first online commentary someone referred me to, regarding Au Contraire. It was less than glowing. It was written by someone who seemingly took a strong liking to my first CD; someone who hailed it as some sort of minuscule masterpiece, and was all the more surprised to see such a thing being put out by a virtual “unknown.” Au Contraire, it turns out, does not seem to accord with all this person has conjured up in his/her imagination about who I am and what can be expected of me, based upon 11 tidy songs I wrote over seven years ago. Au Contraire, apparently, is not readily-accessible, easy-on-the-ear power-pop and, as such, has been deemed “a real pity.” Alas, this time around, I've opted for “quirky” songwriting, “conceptual/structural eccentricity” and excessive “ambition.”

To which I can only say – fabulous. Mission accomplished.

Quirky: strikingly unconventional, abruptly peculiar, idiosyncratic.

Eccentric: deviating from an established or usual pattern or style; deviating from conventional or accepted usage or conduct, especially in odd or whimsical ways.

Ambitious: having a strong desire for success or achievement; requiring full use of one’s abilities or resources.