Critic’s Notebook: On Pitchfork and kingmaking

Yesterday, August Brown offered an impassioned take-down of Pitchfork's snarky "review" of the new Black Kids LP. For me, the whole little mess raises questions beyond whether a snapshot of a pair of pugs -- one black, the other white -- is an effective emblem for artistic failure. (Though I'd like to get some of my friends who have written on minstrelsy and racialized pop imagery to weigh in on Pitchfork's decision to use those particular animals to represent an interracial band).

I'm not quibbling with turnabout reviews, or the ratings drop from 8.4 to 3.3 from the Black Kids' first recorded effort to the band's second. Critics often thrill to a young band's first, rough outbursts only to question its (slightly) more polished later efforts. And though I'm with Neil Young's dad in "Powderfinger" in saying, "Numbers add up to nothing," readers do respond to scores and stars. Making a statement that way is a time-honored critical gesture -- an easy middle finger raised.

What interests me about this tiny Black Kids backlash is the one word that accompanies the picture:

"Sorry :-\"

There's a world of assumptions in that "sorry," the most basic of which -- that a publication's influence can shape artists' careers -- is sweetly old-fashioned. That "sorry" assumes that Pitchfork made the Black Kids and is now responsible for the band's disappointing, in their view, major-label debut. It's an assertion of self-importance that comes at a time when critics at print-based publications are publicly doubting their right to exist. (The latest such angsty outburst I've found is in the English press; at the Los Angeles Times, my esteemed colleague Patrick Goldstein wrote on the subject back in April, in a much-discussed essay, "The End of the Critic?")

Pitchfork's turks, young but getting older, vehemently reject this hand-wringing. Their reviews, written in the mildly colorful, descriptive, literary-minded style of publications Pitchfork seeks to supersede -- Rolling Stone and the Village Voice, specifically -- don't show any anxiety about the worth of a critic's voice.

They're just regular old record reviews, with a number attached for readers who prefer statistics to words. And they're contained within a fairly conventional magazine format -- this isn't a peer-to-peer message board, like chowhound.com, or even a blog, like the one you're reading now. Without even a reader-comments section to turn them into dialogues, Pitchforks' most-discussed tools for influencing public opinion are as conventional as can be, the occasional pooch-picture prank aside.

As more mainstream music writers all around them radiate desperation, Pitchfork's folks just keep on with the practice of kingmaking. Critics have always championed fledgling artists. Why? Out of enthusiasm, one hopes, but also to grab power from them; when taste is the coin of your land, you have to show that you have the most. And the strongest way to establish superior taste is to simply put it out there. Never give off the whiff of awareness that your opinion is just one in a million.

The private universe Pitchfork has built on its site accomplishes this feeling. Here's a line from Marc Hogan's review of the Black Kids demo "Wizard of Ahhhs," which put those rockets in the band's sneakers: "They're giving away something we can't buy often enough: a record with not just a distinctive aesthetic, but also one single-worthy track after another." In reality, that "something" can be bought, all the time -- there's never been so much good music available, especially of the homemade but pop-wise kind the Black Kids produce. But by pushing the Black Kids to the top -- Hogan's review gave the demo a super-high 8.4 score -- Pitchfork not only "made" the band, it remade its own credibility.

Then why retract? That's part of kingmaking too. Ripping down the Black Kids (and Jet before that, with a more obscene funny animal shot) is the critical equivalent of the Queen of Hearts in "Alice in Wonderland" shouting "Off with her head!" It reasserts power over loyal subjects by dint of seemingly random violence. A more considered response would allow room for doubt that the "Pitchfork aesthetic" is, if not infallible, damn reliable.

Kingmaking has always been a slippery task for critics. We've all embraced artists who've gone on to fail, and missed or dissed ones who grew into greatness. Personally, I enjoy figuring out the intricacies of how music moves me and connects to the culture, rather than simply declaring thumbs up or down.

But we live in times of revolution and subtlety's often the first thing to go. Kudos to Pitchfork for believing in its own centrality as everyone flails around them. I'm not eager for cruel-hearted, intellectually shallow gestures to replace measured thought in arts journalism, but I am in favor of bold moves.

Pitchfork's "sorry" statement might sting the Black Kids, but it won't take them down. Dozens of other reviews will help form public opinion, as well as the usual late-night TV performances, cute videos and live shows. The best kingmakers also know how to let go -- which is another way to read that "sorry." Wiping their hands clean of another fledgling, the Pitchfork team is ready to cherry-pick again.

-- Ann Powers

Comments

[Forest]

This was a generously thoughtful and well-written article. Fine work.

[BlakBitch]

Too tired to give you anything as in-depth complex as Lott or Daphne likely to deliver...but yes, Ann, the deployment of the white and black dogs ain't amusing...To refer w/ such a wink to their "tolerance" is even worse than the half-stepping of the "review" itself...

[Brian]

I'll second that - kind of telling, isn't it, that both the review itself and various fiery responses generate tons of discussion...and a careful look at the underlying critical issues gets two comments.