SPEW

THE AESTHETICS AT THE ROCK CRITIC’S FUNERAL My self-identified role as a curator of popular music is one that I’ve gradually been shedding, part from changed perspective, part from failure to sustain a meaningful audience. That’s a fancy way of saying that when so many people don’t give a shit, they start to seem convincing after a spell. I ran out of gas. I felt tapped for maintaining blogs and that kind of shit. For years I had some tangible connection to the ‘industry’ that made me feel, I dunno – active? relevant? I ran a really good record store. I wrote for a major metropolitan newspaper. I wrote for various reasonably high circulation periodicals. I appeared frequently on public radio stations. But when my record store died after 52 years (I was there for 39 of them) and the newspaper gave the axe to freelancers, I lost my base, if you will. Sure, people tell me they miss the store. Or my reviews. And it’s nice. But these ripples of awareness are dr...