Was Christgau right in 1973?

Just imagining this piece of shit yelling "Car-di!" gives me chills.

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It just really depends. Is jazz the greatest American musical achievement? Yeah probably. Besides that do the best white rock musicians blow everything else black people have done out of the water? Also yes.

America’s only real musical achieve this are the works of Charles Ives. Everything else is kitschy crap(Stephen Fosters, Minimalism, etc.) or nihilistic consumer crap (Jazz, rock, hip hop, House, etc.). Jazz itself (even at its most violent and experimental) is hedonistic dance music designed to facilitate a kind of social environment that is appealing to the masses. It should be no surprise that it became the foremost mode of popular music shortly after recording and broadcasting technology created new forms of musical commodification.

damn, I used to respect Christgau...
oh well, everyone needs a paycheck now and then.

I’ll let you try and articulate how this is attempting to facilitate a social environment for the masses.

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Because the most essential laments of Jazz (its rhythmic tendencies) were created to facilitate the environment of red light districts. The red light district is found at the bottom of all jazz; it is the bedrock, and when it is removed it ceases to be jazz.

One of the things that makes Christgau defensible is that he makes it obvious when his dick has played a role in his evaluation.

I should also say that experimental forms of Jazz only serve to make challenging musical ideas accessible and consumable by by applying themselves to the inherently social jazz paradigm.

Schoenberg should count

Lmfao, summah time is finally here

>"Write a verse while I twerk / I wear off-white in church"? Tell it, sister. "Only thing fake is the boobs"? Ca-ching. "Pussy's so good I say my own name during sex"? Car-di!
I'm never going to get over this

Rid of Me [Indigo, 1993]
Never mind sexual--if snatches like "Make me gag," "Lick my injuries," and "Rub 'til it bleeds" aren't genital per se, I'm a dirty old man. And if the cold raw meat of her guitar isn't yowling for phallic equality, I'm Robert Bly, which is probably the same thing. She wants that cock--a specific one, it would seem, attached to a full-fledged, nonobjectified male human being, or maybe an array or succession of cocks, it's hard to tell. But when she gets pissed off, which given the habits of male human beings happens all the time, she thinks it would be simpler just to posit or grow or strap on or cut off a cock of her own. After which it's bend-over-Casanova and every man for him or herself. A

This dude is fucking delusion if he thinks Cardi is going to hop on his dick like a pogo stick for giving her a high review.
This review smells of “let me sniff your THICC ass, since I gave you a good review”.
Christgau needs to bust one out before reviewing stuff.

Schoenberg was a genius, but he wasn’t American even if he live in LA during the war.

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He knows she won't, see . He's just enjoying the view.

One thing that has bothered me in the past about Christgau, and could serve as material for a cancellation argument by someone who wanted to pursue it, is that if you read his reviews of more obscure artists in the 70s, you can tell what colour the female artists are by how he talks about them sexually. There's one woman where he says that she's very religious sounding but there's one track where it sounds like [male artist collaborating] put his hand up her skirt, and she sounds better for it.

He means he can get a stiffie without touching himself without watching it? I mean, watching porn *while* fucking is a niche enough taste that he wouldn't be referring to that, so... what's his point? I suppose at his age getting an unassisted stauner is cause for rejoicing.

Wonder what porn he watches. I wish critics would talk more about their taste in porn.

But would he have been able to do what he did without moving? Probably can be considered an American musical achievement for that reason.

Stories From the City, Stories From the Sea [Island, 2000]
If Nirvana and Robert Johnson are rock's essence for you, so's To Bring You My Love. But if you believe the Beatles and George Clinton had more to say in the end, this could be the first PJ album you adore as well as admire. It's a question of whether you use music to face your demons or to vault right over them. Either way the demons will be there, of course, and nobody's claiming they won't catch you by the ankle and bring you down sometime--or that facing them doesn't give you a shot at running them the fuck over. Maybe that's how Harvey got to where she could enjoy the fruits of her own genius and sexuality. Or maybe she just met the right guy. Tempos and pudendum juiced, she feels the world ending and feels immortal on the very first track. The other 11 songs she takes from there. A+

>pudendum juiced
>pudendum

PUDENDUM. He referred to PJ Harvey's vagina as a "pudendum". He said it was "juiced". He thought of her juicy pussy as he listened to her album.