You can keep your fancy-pants Pitchfork criticism. For my money -- and believe me, I have none of it -- the finest music prose isn't some college boy's flower-power review of the new long player by England's hottest beat group. It's not some hepcat rap blogger carving up Weezy's toots with a silver fork and knife, pal. For the best pop writing, you've gotta get down in the trenches and wallow in the serious shit. Buddy, I'm talking about the press releases.
These are dispatches from hell itself, the front lines where art fights commerce and loses. Written by men and women who maybe aren't the fanciest writers, maybe aren't the brightest, but they've got a god-damned job to do: whatever the cost to their souls, they're gonna tell you what kind of shoes Justin Bieber is pretending to like this week. They're going to throw themselves down in the muck and the slime and they're going to dig up the story on Taylor Swift's latest brand collaboration. I salute these brave reporters, and it's the least I can do to make fun of them until I throw up laughing.More »