Critical Care

I don’t remember in which of my teenaged years I ponied up the spare change for my first magazine subscription, but I sure remember which publication got my dollars – “Rolling Stone,” of course!

Up until then, I’d sneak into my brothers’ unholy mess of a bedroom while they were at college, work or crawling through the local saloons and rifle through heaps of dirty clothes, stacks of albums and pillars of “National Lampoon” and “Playboy” before I found the current bi-weekly issue. Once they moved into pseudo adulthood and out of the house, they took “RS” with them, which is when I joined the ranks of the mag’s rolls.

One of my favorite parts of the pub was the record review section. Without such passionate, perceptive and influential critics as Robert Christgau, Greil Marcus, Charles M. Young and the one-and-only Lester Bangs, I may never have made such life-altering purchases as “Horses,” “The Ramones Leave Home,” “Never Mind the Bollocks” and “That’s Entertainment.” I rushed out to buy The Clash’s first American release, “Give ‘Em Enough Rope,” (the band’s eponymous debut would be released in this country shortly after) when I was advised that the LP announced its intentions with an opening gunshot of a rim shot and ratcheted up the two-man guitar attack from there. It was the beginning of a life-long love affair, as the framed “Black Market Clash” poster currently hanging in my living room can attest to.

When “RS” changed along with the culture, featuring more movie stars and pop tarts on its cover than real players, I knew it was time to move on and migrated over to “Musician,” as did some of “Rolling Stone’s” best writers like Bangs and Cameron Crowe. But “Musician” was never intended to be a fan mag and, as much as I liked their interviews and reviews, I found myself skipping over too many technical articles to justify the expense. That’s when I switched to “Spin,” which is where I’ve come to rest for over a decade.

But that rest has become increasingly restive. Their feature articles are fine, but I wish they’d drop the occasional fashion spreads (if I wanted to subscribe to “Elle” or “Glamour,” I would, fer chrissakes) and expand their coverage of live gigs from occasional to every issue. But the section that’s crying out for a real overhaul is the record reviews.

While “Spin’s” desire to review as many bands and their offerings as possible gets an “A” for effort, the result rates a desultory “D.” Jamming an average of fifty reviews (along with sidebars covering genre “essentials” and reissues) into a mere ten, six-column pages does a disservice to the musicians, the critics and the readers. Squeezed into an average of twenty lines, the reviewers are forced to use the crutch of comparison to give a sense of the artists’ soundscape. In the current issue (April 2010), I counted no less than three reviews that invoked Bob Dylan. Maybe none of these bands object to being put in the same company as the legendary Mister D., but if I decide to plunk down my money for their music, exactly which “Dylan” am I getting? The “Blonde on Blonde” Dylan? The “Blood on the Tracks” Dylan? The (egad!) “Christmas in the Heart” Dylan?

Hell, “Spin’s” reviews are so short, half the time I can’t even tell if the reviewer liked the record or not, which isn’t helped by the mag’s half-assed ratings system of ten gray dots, colored red in an ascending scale of approval, like some sonic SAT test.

Without expanded space for a thoughtful, in-depth record review, the artists’ individual creativity is short changed, the reviewers gets gypped out of the joy of turning an audience on to a deserving record or the satisfaction of warning them off a lousy one, and the music buyer is left wondering if maybe they can save a few bucks by canceling their sub and finding a better review site on the ‘net.

So “Spin,” do me a favor. Pick ten releases each month – twelve tops –then let your writers use their ears, heads and hearts to make their critical case. After that, I’ll be the judge.