Rock criticism is in a crisis. We've seen this, discussed it, linked to it, admitted it, wrung our hands, blamed each other, planted flags, crossed dicks, banged vulvas, and looked the other way. We haven't been fair. We haven't been nice. We've scapegoated the big dogs, sniffed at blogs we read every day, ovepraised our friends, and overestimated the shit-giving factor of the public. We've generalized, theorized and vaporized our free time and use value with impunity. We've forged our own personal golden ages (always remote), nominated baddies and licked butts we hoped might shit a golden egg our way. And we've gotten nowhere.
Because this is all cat piss without a leader. We need authority. We need genius. We need Piero Scaruffi. His version of history makes the paving stones heave up like petals and disperse, revealing the beach of our true desires. (Make sure you see the whole list. Go on.) And his take on 2003 (scroll down almost to the bottom, please quickly quickly do it now, God, do it now) is astounding. No one else could see what we were all doing. Piero has. I tip my hat. No—I bow, scrape, prostrate myself. I may also end up paying you every dime I have.
(I am assuming he bought all four copies of Answers we've sold.)Posted by Sasha at January 8, 2004 10:43 PM | TrackBack