Reconciling Our Interests With Our Realities

Just days after the release of Architecture in Helsinki's latest album there was a virtual flood of criticism available for the record. I don't mean criticism in the sense that it was universally panned, rather a critical mass of writing on the record available on the internet. This writing is certainly in addition to a wealth of pre-reviews, track reviews, news blurbs, interviews, live reviews, blog posts and all other manner of exposure for the band. Check Metacritic for confirmation. Yet, if I were to take a random sample of people out on the street here in Los Angeles, I suspect that only a small fraction of those people would even recognize the name of the band. What is frustrating, however, is that I find it difficult to reconcile the role of criticism and coverage with my desire to listen to a band.

Let me refine this argument. As someone who is more than just a casual fan of music, I dedicate a lot of time to researching new bands, listening to new albums, etc. However, there is a central question that someone with my interest faces: am I looking for the best music or am I looking for the music below other people's radar? It's possible that these two things are the same, but it's also possible that they are not. I would posit that the majority viewpoint of people in my position favors finding great music under the radar. That's who we are! You don't start looking for a band like Architecture in Helsinki unless a part of you is dissatisfied by the choices available through mass media outlets. Furthermore, you find some solace in rooting for the underdog and in being a part of a small community doing the same.

Here's the problem, though. (Or rather the multiple subtle problems that have emerged recently). There has been a critical backlash in the past few years against the outright rejection of popular music and pop music, which are two different things. This makes sense by and large. If we reject things that are popular purely because they are popular or because they have a pop sound, then we reject some of the most stunning music ever created on a technicality. Take Motown for example. I don't think that you will find a single serious fan of music that would argue against the excellence of Motown, a label nearly as infallible as it was popular in certain parts of the sixties. And take Annie as an example of someone with a pop sound that doesn't deserve outright rejection. She's wonderful despite the fact that she has a very pop edge to her music. But how can we reconcile the fact that the critical leviathans that we've erected have betrayed us? Websites like Pitchfork and Stylus rose to prominence on the promise that they would protect us from popular music and give us guidance in our chosen world of music. What does it mean when Pitchfork places Justin Timberlake at the top of its year-end singles list? I'm not trying to overdramatize what is essentially a meaningless list in a world with real problems. The song might even be good. That's not really the point, though.

In fact, the problem is even more subtle than a simple betrayal. The internet has made it easy for subcultures to rally together and find critical mass, but for a lot of these subcultures, the whole point was not to have critical mass. The advent of Pitchfork meant that we had a place where a small group of dedicated music fans could gather to get advice on how to proceed in the underground. People caught on. More people showed up and suddenly Pitchfork wasn't a guiding hand so much as a tastemaking juggernaut. A place that used to be a haven for wonderful, unpopular music became a popular hang out. By becoming successful, Pitchfork also became antithetical to its own cause. (Primarily this is conjecture. How could I possibly know what the actual goals of Pitchfork are? Are there any goals other than to be successful? How do they define success?) Let's not forget that this kind of thing happens all the time. Rolling Stone didn't used to be a piece of shit publication. There was a time when it was progressive and interested in undercurrents of society as they were happening, not two years after they were over. Hell, this line of reasoning even carries over to bands themselves. How many people out there have sworn undying allegiance to an underground band, told all their friends about the band and then dismissed the band as soon as they reached some moderate level of success (probably for selling out)? I swear, I do this, like, weekly.

So how do I reconcile these problems? Can I keep falling from one subculture to the next until I reach some bottom where the only member of the movement is me? Groucho Marx certainly was prescient when he said, "I wouldn't want to be part of any club that would have me as a member." Is it really that big a deal that a band is flaunted on Pitchfork? I'll still only have two or three friends who have even heard of them. What is the appeal of these exclusive groups to which we often subjugate ourselves? Can there ever really be something meaningful that survives success or is success the sign that something has lost relevance?