QUOTE OF THE WEEK: “Things sure have changed since we got kicked out of high school." – Johnny Ramone

SONG OF THE WEEK: “Around the Dial” – The Kinks

DE-CONSTRUCTING THE ‘DIAL:

Rather than print a whole passel of letters (some of which ramble on nearly as long as yours truly does), I decided to bundle up the most pertinent of ’em into general “Q-n-As.” Here are the results:

Q: How does one become a music critic, and how did you get into it?

A: Some people ask this question with an almost palpable sense of incredulity. Since I could give a rat’s ass what these snooty ankle-biters think, I tend to find that reaction quite hilarious and will usually attempt to irritate, piss off or generally offend them even further. Others are genuinely curious and ask advice about getting into the “biz.” Let me acknowledge both camps here—first of all, I’d never willingly call myself a “Music Critic.” Most folks who do refer to themselves as such are the kind of people I try to avoid at all costs—both socially and print-wise.

Nope, there’s really no big secret or mystery to it, kiddies. Just about anyone who likes music and can listen, read and write can be a critic. Don’t let the shit-heels at corporate rags try to convince you otherwise—nobody needs four years of deep study at a university to convey their opinions about an album. Me, I just walked in off the street into the Minneapolis offices of a now-defunct local ’zine (The Squealer) and told ’em I wrote about rock n’ roll. Next thing ya know, I’m hangin’ out at Pachyderm Studios in Cannon Falls watching Tommy Stinson and Perfect record the album When Squirrels Play Chicken. Some folks are a bit taken aback by my writing style, such as it is, but I’ve never given a good goddamn what people think anyway—why start now? Frankly, as a fan, I myself was tired of trying to muddle through insulting, smug, snide record reviews written by pseudo-intellectual dorks—it’s an album, and your job is to let people know if they should buy it or not, not to impress them with your stodgy command of the English language. In other words, don’t use a fucking $20 word to describe a two-bit album. Christ.

Q: I’ve heard that there are some cool perks in the music writing biz. Is that true?

A: Sure, there are some sweet bennies that come with this job, but my first advice to anybody planning a career as a critic of any kind would be to study something else as well, because chances are they’ll need a day job. Simply put, the pay stinks. Also, by figuratively hanging your bare ass out the window of a moving car when you print your opinions you’ll be opening yourself up to just as many downers that come along with the biz—lunatics who worship dead ’80s pop stars, stalkers, bunny-boilers, grifters, hangers-on, and, of course, the artists you’re sizing up and judging. Diggit—some of ‘em ain’t exactly thrilled when ya deep six the album they just spent nine months recording.

On the other hand, I’ve met and partied with people whose albums I used to buy when I was in high school or college, discovered and helped to promote artists that are now popular worldwide, learned more about the inner workings of writing, recording and performing music than I ever thought possible, and been privy to backstage and after-hours hijinks so wild and debauched I’d have to wait until at least 20 local musicians die of old age before I’d dare to print ‘em. Gotta have a little honor between rockers an’ writers, ya know?

I’ve taken road trips with pilled-out, sexed-up, booze-addled indie bands, worked in a recording studio for two years and cut my own EP, and held the late Kurt Cobain’s little girl on my knee. In between it all, I’ve survived on cheap hooch, discount cigarettes and Ramen noodles, slept on blow up mattresses, couches and in the back seats of cars just to keep the frost offa my toes, and came damn close to being consumed entirely by the whole tawdry affair; all because I’m hopelessly addicted to this drug called rock. The bottom line is, you gotta really, really, really love music to the point of lunacy to stick with this gig. I’ve been penning this here column for 348 weeks or so—no question I’m a lost fucking cause. At least I’ll go to hell in a handbasket with a kick-ass soundtrack playin’ in my head.

Q: How did you come up with the title of your column and what does it mean?

A: Just take a look at this edition’s “Song Of The Week.” I named the column in honor of the classic Kinks tune, which is all about what Tom Petty more recently referred to as “The Last DJ.” Listen to the Kinks song—you’ll suss my motives in no time. Even if you don’t, it’s a tune you should know.

Q: What are your criteria for reviewing an album, and why do you print so many positive reviews?

A: That one’s easy. Generally, I try to give just about everything that crosses my desk a spin—the only real exceptions being already over-exposed national or international releases and material I know up front that I either don’t like (opera, modern Nashville hoo-ha, dance, modern R&B, gangsta rap, and Britney/Christina/boy-band-type radio fodder) or know enough about to speak with any kind of authority on. As for why I tend to print mostly decent or glowing reviews, that’s simple enough as well. My primary focus here is to expose great new music, especially great new local music. Though there are several other sources in town (check the ’zine rack at your local record shops, restaurant or watering hole) that pay special attention to hometown releases, there’s no doubt that the musical talent pool in the Twin Cities is much larger and more eclectic than any one weekly—or even daily—publication could possibly hope to cover with any fairness. If I get a crappy local album in the mail and it doesn’t look as if the perpetrators of said poo are going to be any threat to local stages or music lovers, I’ll usually just pass over it and let the wankers die a peaceful artistic death all on their own.

On the other hand, if a local or national act is on the receiving end of what I perceive to be undeserved fawning and coddling (locally, it’s generally because certain writers seem to only spare positive ink for “trendy,” fashionable, or—let’s face it—“cute” artists), I’ll dig in and give ’em a good sound thrashing right here on these pages. Sometimes it’s really fun to take the piss with some stuck-up, self-absorbed, narrow-minded dick-nail and expose them ole emperor’s new clothes. God, I’m such a social fucking deviant. And it’s FUN!

Q: I’ve noticed you sometimes take a stand on political and social issues in your column. I thought this was a music column!

A: Wow. You’re right! This is a music column! But guess what? If you live in the real modern world and have a platform such as this newspaper, where you can help to expose liars, fascists, fakes, phonies and tyrants, you’d be just as bad as they are to NOT use the space to comment on such things. I’m neither Democrat nor Republican, but I won’t sit idly by and watch the travesties the current administration and its acolytes are perpetrating without speaking up. So yeah, I make it clear I think Bush, Cheney and the whole good ole boys gang SUCK ASS!! And before you start razzing me, yes I voted, so I have every right to bitch. The only thing I hate more than politics are politicians—fucking lazy windbags who fart through silk shorts while most people are starving and on the brink of homelessness—ugh! I say put ‘em all on an island with nothing but a case of rotgut whiskey and Paris Hilton’s debut album—if they don’t kill each other, they’ll kill themselves. Good fucking riddance.

Q: I sent you a CD and press kit to the Pulse offices, and you haven’t reviewed it as yet. What’s up?

A: If you send me mail at the Pulse offices, I might not ever get it. I’m a freelance writer, and as such, haven’t physically set foot in the office since around the turn of the century (yes, this century, smart-ass). If I did receive your album and thought it sucked, I might have just ignored it or sold it in a used record shop for cigarette and beer money. If you want to be sure, drop me a line at the e-mail addy below. If you want me to directly receive your album in a timely fashion, do the same and I’ll reply with a mailing address for ya.

Q: Why do you have a “Quote Of The Week” and a “Song Of The Week?”

A: I only started the Quote/Song of the Week deal a few years back. Mostly, I just do it for the hell of it. There are weeks, however, when the quote might tie into the rant/rave/reviews I print that time out. One thing I want to make completely clear here (as several people have either posted online or sent me e-mails on the subject) is that the “Song Of The Week” has absolutely nothing to do with what’s popular, fashionable, hip, hot, cool, “in” or “it.” I fucking hate all of that phony, posturing bullshit and if you’re one of those people it’d be no skin off my nose if you never read my column again. You suck, and I don’t need any new friends, so fuck off. I print the “Song Of The Week” feature because that’s the song I’ve listened to and enjoyed the most in that seven-day period. I also do it because I’m hoping it will educate and inform or entertain and amuse those readers who actually love music, not trends.

So no, The Band may not be all the rage in moronic modern-day discos or dance clubs (which I’m certain must be as close to the gates of Hell you can find), where $10 drinks lead to $100 hangovers, the men have greased-back hair and sport khaki Dockers and itchy cell-phone fingers and the women all look like they’ve just stuck their big fat rubbery lips inside a hornet’s nest, but they made some damn fine music and rather than scoffing at it you should try giving one of their albums a spin and see why Bob fucking Dylan loved them so much. Shit, Dylan’s over 60 and still making great albums. What are you doing—or not, as the case may be—that you have time to sit around and complain about my Song Of The Week, ya rubber-necked little fart-sniffer? Snarl. Grrr.

Well, there ya go—most of the issues I’ve recently received mail about are addressed above—if yours isn’t there, it’s probably because your question or comment was so idiotic I couldn’t even make fun of it. Seriously, though, I do try to answer any and all mail I receive, even the negative jabs, so keep ’em comin’ and thanks a million for reading. Knowing there are kindred music nuts out there who share my enthusiasm and love for the art form makes this job more worthwhile than any of the perks I’ve ever gotten because of it. No bullshit. OK, enough with the sentimental slop—I heard some ‘shroomed-out hippies are burning an effigy on the beach tonight, and I’m gonna be there when the campfire sparks set some stoned duffer’s thinning gray locks alight. Whoo hoo!

That’s it for this week, folks. Tune in again, same pages, same time in seven days. Until then, make yer own damn news.

If you have local music info/gigs/CDs you’d like to see mentioned in this column, send replies to: Tmygunn77764@yahoo.com. ||