Music criticism

edited 2016-01-22 17:42:20 in General
Good Music Criticism

But Whitney’s talent is restored with the overwhelming “The Greatest Love of All,” one of the best, most powerful songs ever written about self-preservation and dignity. From the first line (Michael Masser and Linda Creed are credited as the writers) to the last, it’s a state-of-the-art ballad about believing in yourself. It’s a powerful statement and one that Whitney sings with a grandeur that approaches the sublime. Its universal message crosses all boundaries and instills one with the hope that it’s not too late for us to better ourselves, to act kinder. Since it’s impossible in the world we live in to empathize with others, we can always empathize with ourselves. It’s an important message, crucial really, and it’s beautifully stated on this album. Her second effort, Whitney (Arista; 1987), had four number one singles, “I Wanna Dance with Somebody,” “So Emotional,” “Didn’t We Almost Have It All?” and “Where Do Broken Hearts Go?” and was mostly produced by Narada Michael Walden and though it’s not as serious an effort as Whitney Houston it’s hardly a victim of Sophomore Slump. It starts off with the bouncy, danceable “I Wanna Dance with Somebody (Who Loves Me)” which is in the same vein as the last album’s irrepressible “How Will I Know.” This is followed by the sensuous “Just the Lonely Talking Again” and it reflects the serious jazz influence that permeated the first album and one can also sense a newfound artistic maturity in Whitney’s voice—she did all the vocal arrangements on this album—and this is all very evident on “Love Will Save the Day” which is the most ambitious song Whitney’s yet performed. It was produced by Jellybean Benitez and it pulsates with an uptempo intensity and like most of the songs on this album it reflects a grownup’s awareness of the world we all live in. She sings and we believe it. This is quite a change from the softer, little-girl-lost image that was so appealing on the first album. She projects an even more adult image on the Michael Masser-produced “Didn’t We Almost Have It All,” a song about meeting up with a long-lost lover and letting him know your feelings about the past affair, and it’s Whitney at her most poetic. And as on most of the ballads there’s a gorgeous string arrangement. “So Emotional” is in the same vein as “How Will I Know” and “I Wanna Dance with Somebody” but it’s even more rock-influenced and, like all the songs on Whitney, played by a terrific backup studio band with Narada on drum machine, Wolter Afanasieff on the synthesizer and synth bass, Corrado Rustici on synth guitar, and someone listed as Bongo Bob on percussion programming and drum sampling. “Where You Are” is the only song on the album produced by Kashif and it bears his indelible imprint of professionalism—it has a smooth, gleaming sound and sheen to it with a funky sax solo by Vincent Henry. It sounded like a hit single to me (but then all the songs on the album do) and I wondered why it wasn’t released as one. “Love Is a Contact Sport” is the album’s real surprise—a big-sounding, bold, sexy number that, in terms of production, is the album’s centerpiece, and it has great lyrics along with a good beat. It’s one of my favorites. On “You’re Still My Man” you can hear how clearly Whitney’s voice is like an instrument—a flawless, warm machine that almost overpowers the sentiment of her music, but the lyrics and the melodies are too distinctive, too strong to let any singer, even one of Whitney’s caliber, overshadow them. “For the Love of You” shows off Narada’s brilliant drum programming capabilities and its jazzy modern feel harks back not only to purveyors of modern jazz like Michael Jackson and Sade but also to other artists, like Miles Davis, Paul Butterfield and Bobby McFerrin. “Where Do Broken Hearts Go” is the album’s most powerful emotional statement of innocence lost and trying to regain the safety of childhood. Her voice is as lovely and controlled as it ever has been and it leads up to “I Know Him So Well,” the most moving moment on the record because it’s first and foremost a duet with her mother, Cissy. It’s a ballad about … who?—a lover shared? a long-lost father?—with a combination of longing, regret, determination and beauty that ends the album on a graceful, perfect note. We can expect new things from Whitney (she made a stunning gift to the 1988 Olympics with the ballad “One Moment in Time”) but even if we didn’t, she would remain the most exciting and original black jazz voice of her generation.

Comments

  • My dreams exceed my real life
    Bad Music Criticism

    I suppose I should write a little bit about classic rock just to tie up the loose ends from the last article. I danced around everything from post-punk to emo last time, but somehow I neglected to illustrate my distaste for the meat and potatoes of rock and roll. Of course, “classic rock” is a broad, vague, and semi-meaningless definition, just like so many other arbitrary genres. Nonetheless, any rock fan has some general idea of what classic rock is. Nowadays, most of us just know it as the world’s shittiest radio format. Flip around your dial a little bit, and in no time you’ll come across a syndicated middle-aged DJ announcing his playlist. Do you maybe detect a hint of shame in his voice as he announces Def Leppard alongside Jimi Hendrix in his last computer-mandated set? No, you don’t, because all classic rock DJs are dead inside. But, getting back to the point: the classic rock radio format, I suppose, merely encompasses the broad canon of guitar music that middle-American rednecks have agreed upon over the years. We might as well ignore it, since there’s no rhyme or reason to it. Aside from that, those people with a tenth of an ounce of brain in their heads probably think of classic rock as the music of the Sixties, the music of Woodstock, the music of rebellion and revolution. Of course, there are many of us from younger generations who didn’t “tune in” or, more tellingly, didn’t “drop out” and therefore have slightly more than a tenth of an ounce of brain, but we usually pity our hippie parents too much to point out that their “revolution” was either imaginary or a failure or both. At least we can credit hippies with more of a grasp on their own culture than classic rock radio programmers, since you’d be hard pressed to find a true sixties wild-child who’d walk over to his stereo and play a double-shot of Boston followed by classic tracks from Van Halen, Simon & Garfunkel, and Loverboy. Aside from the feckless unfortunates who fell into the grotesque Sarlac Pit of Deadheadism, hippies generally have some musical integrity. Much as I appreciate people who know how to turn up their noses at Journey, even “real” classic rock fans piss me off. For one thing, a lot of them like Pink Floyd, and that’s totally fucking inexcusable no matter how many drugs you took. For another thing, they’re so wedded to the past that they’re going to be content listening to the same played-out garbage for the rest of their lives, and would gladly tell some young punk why The Jefferson Airplane is ten times better than what the kids are listening to these days, even though he has no idea what the kids have been listening to for the last thirty years and has no particular desire to find out.
  • “I'm surprised. Those clothes… but, aren't you…?”
    The first one is from American Psycho. I do not recognise the second.
  • the second one looks like something from Something Awful
  • Touch the cow. Do it now.
    Jefferson Airplane are great tho
  • they both look like walls of text
  • Touch the cow. Do it now.
    Honest opinion: 99.99999% of the time, I think "music criticism" is a waste of time/space/ink/whatever
  • Honest, serious comment:

    They both look like uninviting walls of text, and I feel no incentive to actually read them unless forced by circumstance to do so.

    Is it just me, or does anyone else feel this way?
  • Honest, serious, lucid observation: I keep getting you two mixed up because of the purple anime avatars.
  • Touch the cow. Do it now.
    Honest, serious, lucid, sincere action: sets you on fire
  • Haven said:

    Honest, serious, lucid observation: I keep getting you two mixed up because of the purple anime avatars.

    Maybe I need to find a more brightly-lit picture of Yurippe where her hair looks more pinkish...

    That said, I guess it's Imipolex's fault again because his avatar looks like someone else's again.  lol
  • edited 2016-01-23 01:47:46
    Man is a most complex simple creature: see what he weaves, and how base his reasons for doing so.
    Honest, serious, lucid, sincere action: I will shoot you both if you do not take it outside.

    I have glasses to polish.
  • Honest, serious, lucid, sincere action: sets you on fire

    Can't argue with that
  • Touch the cow. Do it now.
    I win!
  • My dreams exceed my real life

    Honest, serious comment:

    They both look like uninviting walls of text, and I feel no incentive to actually read them unless forced by circumstance to do so.

    Is it just me, or does anyone else feel this way?

    You don't have to read them, no one is putting a gun to your head to do so.
  • Haven said:

    Honest, serious, lucid observation: I keep getting you two mixed up because of the purple anime avatars.

    Any better now?
  • My dreams exceed my real life

    the second one looks like something from Something Awful

    yes
  • edited 2016-01-25 22:31:48

    sad that I guessed this correctly
  • My dreams exceed my real life
    Odradek said:

    Bad Music Criticism


    I suppose I should write a little bit about classic rock just to tie up the loose ends from the last article. I danced around everything from post-punk to emo last time, but somehow I neglected to illustrate my distaste for the meat and potatoes of rock and roll. Of course, “classic rock” is a broad, vague, and semi-meaningless definition, just like so many other arbitrary genres. Nonetheless, any rock fan has some general idea of what classic rock is. Nowadays, most of us just know it as the world’s shittiest radio format. Flip around your dial a little bit, and in no time you’ll come across a syndicated middle-aged DJ announcing his playlist. Do you maybe detect a hint of shame in his voice as he announces Def Leppard alongside Jimi Hendrix in his last computer-mandated set? No, you don’t, because all classic rock DJs are dead inside. But, getting back to the point: the classic rock radio format, I suppose, merely encompasses the broad canon of guitar music that middle-American rednecks have agreed upon over the years. We might as well ignore it, since there’s no rhyme or reason to it. Aside from that, those people with a tenth of an ounce of brain in their heads probably think of classic rock as the music of the Sixties, the music of Woodstock, the music of rebellion and revolution. Of course, there are many of us from younger generations who didn’t “tune in” or, more tellingly, didn’t “drop out” and therefore have slightly more than a tenth of an ounce of brain, but we usually pity our hippie parents too much to point out that their “revolution” was either imaginary or a failure or both. At least we can credit hippies with more of a grasp on their own culture than classic rock radio programmers, since you’d be hard pressed to find a true sixties wild-child who’d walk over to his stereo and play a double-shot of Boston followed by classic tracks from Van Halen, Simon & Garfunkel, and Loverboy. Aside from the feckless unfortunates who fell into the grotesque Sarlac Pit of Deadheadism, hippies generally have some musical integrity. Much as I appreciate people who know how to turn up their noses at Journey, even “real” classic rock fans piss me off. For one thing, a lot of them like Pink Floyd, and that’s totally fucking inexcusable no matter how many drugs you took. For another thing, they’re so wedded to the past that they’re going to be content listening to the same played-out garbage for the rest of their lives, and would gladly tell some young punk why The Jefferson Airplane is ten times better than what the kids are listening to these days, even though he has no idea what the kids have been listening to for the last thirty years and has no particular desire to find out.
    Jesus christ this site really is












    pretty bad imho
  • My dreams exceed my real life
    All that guy's articles are exactly that bad

    This is like everything I hate in music criticism and the internet in one package

    he even starts yelling about how people are autistic
  • Munch munch, chomp chomp...
    I skimmed that article and... it was Bad.
  • Sup bitches, witches, Haters, and trolls.
    I read the first few sentences of that article and assumed that it was making fun of the opinions it ostensibly held because it was so badly written
  • Touch the cow. Do it now.
    Def Leppard are great tho
  • My dreams exceed my real life
    Calica said:

    I read the first few sentences of that article and assumed that it was making fun of the opinions it ostensibly held because it was so badly written

    It might be, but the SA music guy wrote like 25 of these, and eventually it kinda doesn't matter whether you're Pat from Achewood or just pretending to be him
  • My dreams exceed my real life
    That is so much better than this dreck

    Also Steven Tyler is an odd looking man
  • Touch the cow. Do it now.
    Motley Crue are not better than Aerosmith, though
  • THIS MACHINE KILLS FASCISTS
    God, I want to slug this guy.
  • “I'm surprised. Those clothes… but, aren't you…?”
    He apparently hasn't written regularly for the site since 2012, and hasn't submitted an article I can find since 2014, so at this point screaming about him seems a bit silly.
  • “I'm surprised. Those clothes… but, aren't you…?”
    I mean, it isn't really. I guess I'm exaggerating to make a point. But still, like—
    lee4hmz said:

    God, I want to slug this guy.

    —really though.
  • My dreams exceed my real life
    http://www.somethingawful.com/your-band-sucks/they-might-be/

    I always thought the SA house style of "hahahahahahahaha neurodevelopmental disorders" came from the forums but it turns out no
  • My dreams exceed my real life
    I mean I realize this is trollbait, but he's just taking things a shitty person would actually say and then going "haha, you see, I am the master ruseman" which is just

    lame
  • Munch munch, chomp chomp...
    Agreed.
  • My dreams exceed my real life
    Like there's no wit here

    So much trolling consists of just writing what a shitty person would write and then smiling when people get angry at you because they irrationally assume a certain level of good faith

    It's why idiots like Roosh hide behind "satire" because this is apparently all these idiots think satire is
  • SATIRE

    let me tell you about satire, let me tell you a good truth. satire is bullshit ?OK 

    you post a joke, we ban you. You say a band is bad? That's ban. You want to talk a bout an album but don't sey it's good enough? Believe it or not--this is a ban. You try to 'sature" that is easily a ban
  • For once, or maybe twice, I was in my prime.
    Side 2 begins with “Syde Tooo,” which brings to mind nothing less than that vision from Wild Drummer (dance music’s last true philosopher and all-around cheeky bastard) of a future in which all music consists of identical drum machines playing identical four-on-the-floor bass drum hits at identical BPM—yet the critics and listeners still argue over which umph-umph-umph-umph is better. Not because DJ PON-3 literally go that minimalistic—quite the opposite, in fact; one suspects that a complete list of all the synthesizers and effects pedals on this track would have turned the liner notes into a short novel—but because on a superficial level this is indistinguishable from the pablum that DJ Snufflepuff and Groove Grove are cranking out, except that Vinyl’s and Octavia’s big, beautiful souls shine through every bass wobble, and that makes all the difference. If their love doesn’t save your soul, it’s because you have none.
  • Touch the cow. Do it now.
    writing about music is like dancing about architecture, eh
  • Sup bitches, witches, Haters, and trolls.
    Odradek said:

    I mean I realize this is trollbait, but he's just taking things a shitty person would actually say and then going "haha, you see, I am the master ruseman" which is just


    lame
    wow, it seems like you don't like funny jokes, things that are funny, jokes, designed to make you laugh, you don't get that jokes are jokes, ha ha, funny
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