David Fricke: Dave Matthews Band, "Big Whiskey and the GrooGrux King"

David Fricke is a living legend. I say this because of the following:

1. David Fricke is alive
2. I saw David Fricke on television.

Certainly, my standards aren't unreasonably high, but on this subject, I think we can all agree that we are in agreement. Because of Fricke's godlike status, I was quite excited to sit down and read his latest review of the Dave Matthews Band's new release, "Big Whiskey and the GrooGrux King," in Rolling Stone magazine. But lately there has been an alarming trend, an unholy abomination, in the music reviewing industry, and it is a fad that Mr. Fricke's latest review has fallen victim to.

More frequently publishers are putting profits before the quality of their product. In order to save a few pennies, these "fat cats" are sending their periodicals to print on low-quality, sub-standard papers, slathered with inferior inks. Some periodicals have even ceased to publish a physical copy, and, instead, exist strictly on the world wide net! Just like pornographers and boat shoe merchants [ED. Le Review Revue produces a solitary print issue on a monthly basis. It is printed on a papyrus handmade by indigenous virgin women, with wood pulp harvested under a blue moon by their immaculately conceived virgin children--the ink is a formula made up of one part atrament, one part walnut oil, one part Ernest Hemingway blood, and one part secret! Each monthly issue is then sent to the Library of Congress for archival purposes].

Now I've tried going the digital route and reading one of these online rags, but I was incapable of doing so. Quite literally, I assure you. Does that say "amazing" or "dog turd"?

I.
Don't.
Know.

All my eyes see are a mass of squiggles (and a sailboat if I squint before crossing my eyes and looking beyond the center point). Is this what is supposed to pass for text these days? There's no depth! No feeling! No warmth! There's no emotional connection between writer and reader. It's like the goddamned terminator telling us what he thinks about Justin Timberlake's latest offering. If we can't trust machines to not try to kill John Connor, then how can we expect them to provide us with an entertaining, yet insightful, take on "Dick in a Box"?

Maybe I'm just old-fashioned, but I want a review I can hold in my hands, feel, and then cut out the semi-pornographic photos from for use during private hour happy-happy fun time. Something with a minimum 37 lb. bond. You can keep your digital robot words; this printophile will keep on reading and producing his craft with tried and true and analog equipment.

Unfortunately, I'm unable to give the content of David Fricke's review of the Dave Matthews Band's "Big Whiskey and the GrooGrux King" any kind of rating. However, I do feel that I am justified in awarding this bastard technology Edith Hannam.