I Is Music Journalist (IV)

You know the drill. First the offending example:

"Frank Turner is back. Whether you like it or not. The Winchester songwriter with dodgy hardcore roots and political pretentions (brought on by a penchant for Billy Bragg) promises a more mature and reflective approach to his craft on this, his second solo album. A modernist nod with a touch of irony, ‘I Knew Prufrock Before He Got Famous’, is an intriguing song title, and one that is let down by a tedious trawl through Frank’s mates' names and their boring hobbies presented in a sort of English Dashboard Confessional strum-along shout-along, almost rousing but always embarrassing celebration of being a bit privileged and a bit arty and a bit like everyone I went to sodding school with.
The theme continues with recent single ‘Photosynthesis’, in which Frank sings about how he refuses to grow up: “All my friends are getting married, and mortgages and pension plans… I won’t sit down / and I won’t shut up / and most of all, yeah, I won’t grow up.” Maybe this is an uplifting rallying cry for some ‘young adults’ but frankly it riles me. Does this make you better than them, Frank? Does it really? Because to me it just makes you sound spoilt, spiteful and insubstantial, and I’ve never felt more like I wanted to stop listening to Blink 182 and get a job in a bank, lest I turn out like you.
I first saw Frank playing in a beach hut in Cornwall. His performance was brash and assured and pretty impressive. Very much a natural successor to the urbane folk of the Dylans and Braggs of yesterday, but lyrically awkward at times. “That’ll change,” I thought. Nope. Frank’s got a strong voice, but, like so many, he’s just shouting above the din of mediocrity for the sake of shouting. He has absolutely nothing to say. Inasmuch as you couldn’t here (SP) what they were saying, Million Dead might even have worked better (though let’s not call for a reunion tour just yet). ‘Love Ire & Song’ is a great example of this. Frank’s riling against “idiot fucking hippies” who ruined his enjoyment of whatever protest march he last got drunk on is as crass as his insistence that “Your parents let the world all go to shit”. The latter line is as inane and embarrassing as his former revelation that “Thatcher fucked the kids”. (Really, Frank? Why don’t you write a fucking song about it. Oh, wait…) This is protest music for people with no understanding of or interest in the world around them and the way it works: It’s as myopic and hateful as any proper ‘hippie shit’, any goth niche drivel or any nazi reggae. I can’t imagine a viable demographic outside of his guest list.
His love songs aren’t much more enlightening; “Who’d have thought that a French kiss from a Parisian girl could capture an English boy?” Erm, everyone? It’s a shame that this song’s so lyrically trite because otherwise it’d be one of the few with a powerful enough composition to save this record some face. As it is, it comes across as deeply immature and, sadly, shows none of the progress in song writing that’s been promised. Closing track 'Jet Lag' makes one yearn for a parachute. Save it for open mic night at The Railway Inn, mate. Amongst the endless Red Hot Chilli Peppers and Levellers covers these songs might stand out, but in the cold light of the record shop, I ain’t buying it."

Now I declare my interests.
First up, this was pulled from a website called Playlouder.com which is just a mess of album images and words. I don't understand what it's meant to be and certainly isn't that important. As far as I can tell it's a reader review. I can't actually find the review on the site anymore (hence no link).
Second, I'm a massive fan of Franky T. His band Million Dead is one my favourite post-hardcore bands of all time, and I love my post-hardcore. His solo EP and album will never be erased from my mind, my history or my life. They mean far too much. I've met the man himself on many an occasion and interviewed him three times. I even went to the album launch party a few nights back.
Now let's actually see what's wrong with this review.

"The Winchester songwriter with dodgy hardcore roots and political pretentions"

Correct, he's from Winchester. Dodgy hardcore roots? What? A man who played in two major hardcore related bands (that'd be Kneejerk aswell as MD) in his teens and early twenties, has seen every major and minor UKHC band that ever existed and imploded - check out his UKHC tattoo on his arm and I'd refer you to an hour long drunken conversation in a Birmingham hotel bar about the hardcore scene that he and I engaged in back in 2006 - and survived tours with little food or sleep. He's as skinny as a rake for fuck sake! Thats borderline malnutrition. Have a look at early Fugazi live shows, and see how fucking skeletal they were! There are reasons for that. It's called not being able to afford to eat. MD played upwards of 200 shows between 2001 and 2005. Frank, a man educated at Eton, has definitely paid his dues. Fuck off.

"A tedious trawl through Frank’s mates' names and their boring hobbies presented in a sort of English Dashboard Confessional strum-along shout-along, almost rousing but always embarrassing celebration of being a bit privileged and a bit arty and a bit like everyone I went to sodding school with."

Sucks to be you. It's hardly a celebration of being privileged and arty. I'd say its more a celebration of having friends who are as committed to their music, and the music of others, and having as good a time as possible on as little money, kudos or love as they receive or earn. It's a call to arms as much as a self-deprecating dig at their own ambitions.

"Lyrically awkward at times." "He has absolutely nothing to say."

Frank is one of my favourite lyricists. Why? Because he absolutely has something to say with almost every sentence. You just have to take half of what he says with a pinch of salt. See, as a reviewer, I try my hardest to avoid analysing lyrics. This is partially because I criticsed a Million Dead lyric once, out of a desperate attempt to fend of criticism about my reviews which always seemed overly positive, and got totally demolished for it, despite the fact that Frank had also got the wrong end of the stick with what I was criticising. The main reason though, is that lyrics are open to intepretation just as much as they are personal to the writer. Here, this guy comes off as a humourless and rather staid personality. He seems to have missed such gems as "If music was the food of love then I'd be a fat romantic slob", "Life is about love, last minutes and lost evenings, about fire in our bellies and about furtive little feelings, and the aching amplitudes that set our needles all a-flickering, and they help us with remembering that the only thing thats left to do is live", "I'm not as awesome as awesome as this song makes out, I'm angry underweight and sketching out, I'm building bonfires on my vanities and doubts" and some others. The last line also shits on accusations of being "spoilt, spiteful and insubstantial" and thinking that "this make(s) (Frank) better than them". Lesson: if you're going to make accusations, make sure you back them up with solid evidence and not conjuncture.

"This is protest music for people with no understanding of or interest in the world around them and the way it works"

No, this is protest music from an Eton educated rebel who is educated in vast amounts of European history, has travelled around the globe while touring and with friends and is actually pastiching his own sense of disappointment at the hypocritical efforts of said protests. C'mon! Isn't it bloody obvious!

"It’s a shame that this song’s so lyrically trite because otherwise it’d be one of the few with a powerful enough composition to save this record some face.
As it is, it comes across as deeply immature and, sadly, shows none of the progress in song"

This song is based on intensely personal experiences - if it's a little lyrically immature, for fuck sake the guy was in love when he wrote the song! You're gonna come out with a few stumbling lines aren't you! That's why it's so affecting - what love song has ever gone through psychological and philosophical meanderings, and has managed to make you cry? That's right, none. They are all lyrically trite, but they will still be evocative and beautiful. The moment where the crescendo drops and Frank starts singing "So honey, when you're lonely on the road, you're all on your own, hanging out sad at the back of the country show, picture me there with my hat down low, a smile upon my face to let you know I would like to take you home" has made me well up on many an occasion. Not to mention the fact that he gets to briefly mention about "King's blood on the tricolour". That's history good!

"Closing track 'Jet Lag' makes one yearn for a parachute."

Nice juxtaposition of flight reference as criticism. Exactly what has the writer criticised though? What is it about Jet Lag that is so offensive? He hasn't even said why you'd want a parachute. What were you doing flying in the first place? Perhaps you should never have got on the plane.

Here is my main point and why this review gets to me. There has been no effort to criticise the music in any meaningful, expressive or intelligent way. These are three different things, and not all of them are essential to any review. You can be expressive without being intelligent (the best kind of scathing reviews) for instance. Here, though, there is only hate being spewed in the direction of Frank which comes across almost as jealousy. There is no attempt at explaining just why the music is so despicable, only that the lyrics make Frank sound "arty and privileged". What's wrong with a musician having these characteristics anyway? Have you ever met Frank? You'd soon reassess this assertion (after he's reassessed your facial features - THIS IS A JOKE EVERYONE).

Anyway, further examples of spiteful attacking journalism go here: http://www.subba-cultcha.com/article_album.php?id=6602
Then see the rebuttal and the rebuttal of the rebuttal.
Call me a hypocrite if you like, but at least I fucking admit it. Oh, and I don't believe I've ever, EVER got personal. Unlike the rebuttal. Which is fucking inaccurate. I have a full head of flowing locks thank you very much. Balding indeed. Twats.

PS. That Soul Destroyer review is the worst review I've ever written. Period. It's fucking awful. I must've been so tired. But the rebuttal to the rebuttal is excellent. One of the best rebuttals ever written. I regret nothing.