Mark Kemp: B.B. King, "One Kind Favor

It ain’t easy being a bluesman. Need proof? Go listen to a blues song--any one of them, even the upbeat ones--and you’ll see that the life of a bluesman is filled with nothing but crises, predicaments, and quandaries. And what is the origin of the bluesman’s pain? More often than not, a trifling woman.

Broken hearted? That trifling woman!

Stuck at the bottom of the bottle? That trifling woman!

Broke and busted? That trifling woman!

A spotty discography, despite having incredible talent? That trifling woman!

Too often, though, there is another source of grief that is often overlooked: the music critic. Their sharp, forked tongues offer up a vitriol that, at times, can be comparable to an affable woman. (Of course nothing compares to the ire of the dreaded average-to-cold-hearted woman)

In his review of B.B. King’s most recent release, “One Kind Favor,” reviewer Mark Kemp offers up an asteism for King: your album is good, if only because there was a lot of crap that came before it. More insulting than this is the fact that Kemp uses his review of King’s album as a soapbox to promote the Southern agenda against Eric Clapton.

“For too long, King has drowned in slick production, propped up by stiff duets with the likes of Eric Clapton.”

Oh? You haven't heard about the collective Southern hatred for the English guitarist? Not surprising if you live outside of Dixie. Allow me to boil down the delusions and give you the condensed version of the theory. WARNING: If this makes absolutely no sense to you, keep in mind that you are not alone.

Like all other Southerners, Mark Kemp, a native North Carolingian, strongly holds to the idea that the untimely death of guitarist Duane Allman was intentionally caused by Eric Clapton. Supposedly Clapton first heard Duane Allman’s playing on Wilson Pickett’s rendition of “Hey Jude.” It was then that Clapton, overcome with jealousy, decided that Duane Allman must die(!!!). Clapton invited Allman to play on his "Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs" LP, a ploy to garner the trust of the Southerner. His scheme worked, and an apparent friendship was formed between the two guitarists.

While the rest of the country (and world [and universe]) accepts that Duane Allman’s death was the result of an unfortunate accident after he was thrown from his motorcycle while trying to avoid hitting a truck that stopped suddenly ahead of him, the South grew suspicious. The idea that a truck driving anywhere near Macon, Georgia would stop unexpectedly is suspect enough, but a truck that had the honor of driving ahead of Duane Allman? Not only improbable, but impossible as well.

The explanation offered up by Rebels everywhere, including Mark Kemp, is simple enough: Eric Clapton was the driver of the truck!

Shame on you, Mr. Kemp! You've invoked B.B. King's name in vain, just so that you could try to convince the world that Eric Clapton is a real sonuvabitch. Sure, he can never be forgiven for that song he did with Babyface, but accusing him of murder? You're supposed to be a professional, not some merchant of paranoid delusions. For betraying the venerable trade of music criticism, your review of B.B. King's "One Kind Favor" is awarded the causes of acute renal failure.

Jeffrey Morgan, "Jeffrey Morgan's Media Blackout: Fast, live and in concert"

There are so many people singing the praises of the written word that, at times, it can appear as though the written word is infallible--kind of like the Pope, or Radiohead. But I am here to tell you that the written word is not without fault. Above all , its ease of access allows anyone, however untalented they might be, an avenue to express their ideas and opinions. No longer can we rest assured that anytime we are about to read a book, essay, story, or dirty joke that it will be of quality and substance.

Enter Jeffrey Morgan.

According to an unnamed female source, Jeffrey Morgan is either the uncredited Canadian editor of Creem magazine since 1975, or the OB/GYN with a practice in Mansfield, Texas. Although it is possible that Morgan does both: juggling cervices with one hand and Lester Bangs' balls with the other. Bangs' death in 1982 would definitely have allowed for more cervix juggling.

I haven't read any of Jeffrey Morgan's earlier writings, so I can't say what kind of reviewer he was before his focus shifted to gynecology. But if his current writing is any indicator, he has either fallen into an abyss of mediocrity, or there is a deep imprint of his butt left behind on the couch of mediocrity.

Jeffrey Morgan's "Jeffrey Morgan's Media Blackout" #184 takes a look at several live performance DVD releases, including Dead Boys — Return of the Living Dead Boys: Halloween Night 1986, Quincy Jones — Live at Montreux 1996, and Gillan — The Glory Years. In all, Morgan reviews 11 DVDs, eight of which are releases from the Eagle Vision label. Obviously this means that Morgan is a shill for Eagle Vision and, therefore, can be trusted even less.

Currently Morgan presents himself as the type of reviewer who goes out of his way to let readers know just how atypical and obscure his tastes are, along with how witty he thinks he is. Example: "America — Live in Central Park 1979 (Eagle Vision) :: Need proof that they’re better than Neil Young?" What kind of people actually believe that America (the band, not the country) is better than Neil Young? Only subterranean molemen and subscribers to Lester Bangs' philosophy of antagonistic music fandom.

It's only fitting then that Jeffrey Morgan's "Jeffrey Morgan's Media Blackout: Fast, live and in concert" be awarded Kansas (the band, not the state).

Steven Hyden: U2, "War" (Reissue), "October" (Reissue), "Boy" (Reissue)

When any album is reissued, but especially those by extremely well-liked artists, there are several dangerous outcomes which could potentially occur. They include, but are not limited to, the following:

1. Longtime fans will accuse the band of selling out ("They're only doing it for the money, man.")
2. Music critics will review the rerelease and speak of how great they thought the album was when it was originally released ("I thought this album was really great when it was originally released, man.")
3. The earth will fuckin' explode, man (". . .")

Of course, the problem with each of these is obvious:

1. Alienating longtime fans will ultimately become a financial hindrance to the artist's cloak-and-dagger presbyopic goal of selling out.
   
2. When looking back into the past, it becomes too tempting to revise what one was thinking at that given time. Suddenly you always knew how awesome U2 was (even if Bono is a little too political--OMG, how could you have even known, dude?!), and surely whatever topical fad you were following in the past was only done so ironically; like you would ever genuinely try to record the audio from a New Kids on the Block televised concert onto your tape deck.
3. Uhh. . .

But, given that Steven Hyden was reviewing the newest U2 reissues for The Onion's "The A.V. Club," I decided that in reviewing his review, I would, first, read Hyden's musings, then later go back and reread the surely brilliant review before launching into my own misguided ramblings. You'll now excuse me while I once again read Steven Hyden's reviews of the U2 reissues of "War," "October," and "Boy."
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When I think back on the first time I read Steve Hyden's review of the U2 reissues of their first three albums, I can't help but be reminded about where I was back then. It was a crazy time, and I was a crazy guy. Hell, we were all a little crazy back then, and understandably so. How could we have known how out of control everything would get and how quickly it would get that way?

In those days I felt like I knew everything, and there wasn't a person on this planet that could tell me otherwise, especially not someone older than me. Our parents, man, they just didn't understand. We were trying to say something, and all they wanted us to do was stay quiet so they could hear Wheel of Fortune.

Well you know what, mom? I've got something to say, dad. Fuck. Pat. Sajak. He was only a false prophet leading the way towards an inevitable social collapse. Instead, heed the warnings of the oracle Steven Hyden: "Not since The Who defined itself with 'I Can't Explain' did a band map its career as early as U2 did with 'I Will Follow,' the first track on its staggering 1980 debut, Boy."

U2 didn't change the world accidentally, and neither did Hyden. Genius does not wander these lands drunkenly, stumbling upon whatever washed up vamp they can find. Instead, they plot out their path of devastation, only stopping to rape the truly worthwhile ladies.

Unfortunately Steven Hyden failed to foresee the need to reference Bob Dylan or Radiohead. The absence of Radiohead can be forgiven, as U2 was a predecessor of Radiohead, but the absence of Dylan? That's like showing up to a gunfight sans pistol and with a tubesock on your penis; you just don't do it. But just for showing up to that gunfight, Steven Hyden and his review of the new U2 reissues are going to walk away with Asian puddings.

Tjames Madison: Beck, "Modern Guilt"

Beck did a bad, bad thing. An act so egregious that he has yet to be completely forgiven. For years, though, this betrayal existed only in a penumbra of rumors.

"Did you hear about Beck?"
"Do you think it could be true?"
"Why would he do it? Doesn't he care about us?"

As the gossip increased, it became more and more humiliating to be a fan of Beck. And while in certain social circles it was still acceptable to applaud the musician's work, this appreciation always had to be followed up with a disavowal of his misdeeds, similar to the way your mom talked about her Uncle Mort. He was a good man, but it's a shame about the whole "pedophilia thing."

Beck eventually came forward and admitted that the rumors were true. Hipsters everywhere hung their heads, and music critics began compiling vitriolic barbs to be used against the singer in future album reviews. Off in the distance a baby cried. It was true: Beck had a surname!

"Beck Hansen"

Fans and critics alike responded harshly. It was as if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced. Not since Hitler, had a name aroused so much contempt and ill-will. Answers were demanded. Would Beck's music still be listened to? Could it be enjoyed? What about any future releases? Which name would they be released under? What do we tell the children?

If liveDaily contributor Tjames Madison was affected by Beck's infidelity, he certainly shows no sign of it. In his review of Beck's latest, Modern Guilt, not once does Madison mention the artist's revised moniker. Are we to believe that Madison was unaffected by the whole affair, or that he's simply in denial? As us reviewers are wont to do, I will attempt to remain positive and believe the former.

Madison makes no attempt to reinvent the wheel. He knows what reviewers do well, and sticks to that. Opinions are offered up as facts and comparisons to prior works are made. He describes Modern Guilt as being Beck's "most even outing since 2002's Sea Change." And, of course, no review would be replete without the obligatory Bob Dylan simile. The lyrics to "Profanity Prayers" are described as being "overtly Dylanesque."

Unfortunately, though, neither Radiohead nor Pavement are mentioned. A writer of Madison's stature should know better than that. These shortcomings, while significant, are not enough to take away from the strength of the review. For Tjames Madison's review of Beck's Modern Guilt, I award it a child tableau.