A "scoop," if you will. What critics are my favorite? The ones who validate my opinions, of course!

The latest column is up.

I hope to start posting more blog-specific work here soon. The Perfect Pop thing is done, for now. Not that I've wrote about every perfect pop song ever, but I pretty much said what I meant to say. The next series of occasional features will be essays revisiting albums that I found influential in my formative years, beginning with Paul Simon's The Rhythm of the Saints.

Also, I've opened up the comments section. I'm curious as to what people think of this and the commentary here. Let me know, if you're so inclined.

A CD review here, and a pick there.

Sons of Bitches, It’s Pazz and Jop!

The Village Voice’s 31st (or 32nd) Pazz and Jop results are in, and, even though I pasted it in here a month ago, here is a link to my ballot. You can see who else voted for what I voted for by just pressing your finger on a mouse. Hours of fun.

It seems this year, I liked some songs/albums that a lot of people liked, and I liked some songs/albums that a lot of people seem to have overlooked. All in all, an okay place to be.

For those unfamiliar with P&J in all its glory, a few guidelines: There are essays I don‘t always finish reading, led by one from kingpin Robert Christgau; there are comments (one-liners, really) taken from an optional element of the ballot process. I’ve yet to participate in the latter tradition for a whole slew of reasons. I’ll usually think of something witty to say about the year in music, but by the time I fill out the ballot, I no longer think it’s all that funny. Also, I often think of bon mots to submit way past the January-ish deadline. (Like right now, for instance: Loretta Lynn -- Pang! Zow!) Besides, if I were to begin submitting comments, I could then quantify my lurking hunger for approval from the rock-crit upper echelon. And then I die.

On the whole, I feel less oppressed by Pazz and Jop this year than usual, less fearful that whole armies of bad-pop-loving, semiotic-spewing critics are out to make sure I can never secure a writing assignment again. It's almost as if this year's results, comments, etc., indicate that there are in fact different, valid ways to approach blighted hunks of pop culture nowadays. Almost.

Dear Pitchfork,

Is this really necessary? Do you realize there is a reason most music-writer factories, even MOJO for Pete's sake, wait till the actual end of the decade to do these things? More to the point, don't you think it's worth listening to some of these albums for longer than six months or so before bestowing half-dubious honors on them? Really, Kid A? Ah, who cares?