Mother Falcon and Kan Wakan Concert Review

It’s been a long, hot summer in Eugene. I to moved to Oregon from Texas only a year ago and I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be facing temperatures that were matching my relatives’ thermostats in Houston. I needed something to usher in the fall. I’m not a football fan, so the Duck’s opening stomping of some helpless C-list team didn’t put me in the autumn mood. What did bring in the spirit of orange leaves and pumpkin pie was Mother Falcon and Kan Wakan’s performance in Eugene.

I wasn’t even planning on going to the show, I was suffering from allergies when I remembered I was due at University of Oregon’s radio station KWVA to host a performance by Kan Wakan. I went in with sleepy eyes and a nagging cough, but felt lifted after their short set in studio. Their work convinced me to at least see part of their set, and I am beyond glad I did.

While in the station, Kan Wakan had stripped down their set, but on a full stage they brought more power to their nuanced sound. Their debut dropped a few months ago, and they culled from the dark cinematic soul music of that record. There was a lovely ambiance to it all, it was mood music, certainly, but was also deeply engaging, a hard balance to strike. This was due in part to frontwoman K.P’s tremendous vocal work. She was fantastically flexible from track to track, able to bring things down to a low simmer, only to push out raw power in the set’s more energetic moments. Perhaps even more impressive was drummer Amir Oosman’s work. Budding percussionists should study his talents; Oosman was able to propel the songs along without ever being flashy, but if you paid close attention you could pick out the complex rhythms he used so naturally and effortlessly. Their closing track was the 11 minute long epic “Midnight Moon” that sounded like the love child of Ennio Morricone and Pink Floyd, its mesmerizing quality was bolstered by Mother Falcon’s Sterling Steffen as he jumped on stage to burst out a raging saxophone solo.

After Kan Wakan finished, all 56 members of Mother Falcon (I might be rounding up a bit) trickled on stage. Their performance has me coining a new genre “chamber-punk.” The mounds of strings and brass they add lean towards the works of fellow chamber composers San Fermin, but there was an energetic ethos here that spoke more to bands like Fucked Up or Titus Andronicus. During one of the set’s dancier parts, Steffen and fellow sax player Andrew Fontenot rushed into the crowd to play a fevered duet. A 3^rd of the way through Mother Falcon’s performance, the entirety of the crowd was standing in front of the stage, dancing and swaying to the mad rush of the music. “Marigold” had beautiful, fluttering moments balanced by the crazed march of strings, “Sleep” waltzed romantically along and “Porcelain” drew the crowd in with a rare hypnotizing trot. Trumpeter Matt Krolick stood stoically in the midst of it all, flashing brilliant solos and lines between cascading string movements.  Mother Falcon smartly delivered moments of quiet introspection between the more frenetic and harsh tracks, allowing for precious minutes to breathe and rest before the next frantic song.

Single “Dirty Summer” summed the show up in a neat three minute race. The Arcade Fire style “whoa-ohs” had the audience screaming along, and the start-stop motions of the horns made the venue shudder and jitter as those golden notes demanded everyone dance. I was giddy and dizzy as their final notes faded, a sentiment I shared with a good portion of the audience, who often paused to take long breaths of shock as songs ended. I felt in a state of bliss as I biked my way home; the state was so strong that I found myself singing showtunes as I road through the night. Take that as a high note of praise, Mother Falcon is one of the finest live bands I’ve ever had the pleasure to see.

Top 10 Rap Songs of the 2000s

10. Get By- Talib Kweli

It's been said that if talent translated directly into cash, Kweli would be the richest man in the world. And it's hard to argue when he's got tracks like "Get By." He'll get your head rocking even while he's telling you the horrors of the street life. The snapping percussion backs up his breath taking flow as he drops double take inducing internal rhymes. It's the sort of anthemic track that will get you pumped up to change the world.

9. Memory Loss- Deltron 3030

   
Del was already an underground legend when he teamed up with Dan the Automator and Kid Kola for the 2000’s most batshit album. Deltron 3030 was a rap opera where Del literally destroyed other MCs with his psychic rap powers and fought an evil bank that took over the universe (as played by Damon Albarn). And yet, it all was still gold. Del might have rhymed about killing Martians, but his flow was undeniable and, on “Memory Loss,” (with a little help from Sean Lennon), the chorus was impossibly catchy thanks to cartoonish horns. It was a dystopian party to be heard.

8. Paper Planes- MIA

Can we acknowledge how weird “Paper Planes” was? And still is? M.I.A’s British by way of Shri Lanka flow was a shocking break from the Lil Wayne impersonators that dominated the charts at the time and she still sounded more gangsta than any Tha Carter bandwagon jumper. Diplo’s Clash biting production is so catchy that you won’t even notice that M.I.A is threatening to rob everyone listening and raging against a “Third world democracy.” From those starting notes to the final screeching guitar, “Paper Plans” was the weirdest arena ready anthem of the 2000s. Rebellion that’s impossibly danceable is hard to deny.   

7. Feather- Nujabes
 
Now this was a sign of the times. In the mid-2000s the most respected producers were J-Dilla, Madlib, El-P, and Nujabes. A Detroit based soul obsessed virtuoso, a gritty white dude from Brooklyn, an LA recluse, and a mad genius from Tokyo. Nujabes’ jazzy beats were part call back to A Tribe Called Quest and part future shock. The rolling piano of “Feather” moves like a Mobius Strip, mesmerizing and seemingly never ending. Florida based Cise Star brought a philosophical and positive flow to Nujabes’ tranquil beat. “The best laid plans of Mice and Men are never right/I'm just a Vagabond with Flowers for Algernon…/Fly like an arrow of God until I'm gone.” Along with Akin’s musings on race relations, “Feather” proved that the sound of hip-hop could overcome all barriers. 

6. B.O.B.- Outkast
 
“This will be the year we won’t forget!” Shouted Andre 3000 at the start of the nuclear bomb that was “B.O.B.” and damn was it true. Thanks to a slew of stunning songs Outkast took over the world, but no song in their discography was as manically grand as “B.O.B.” Screaming at the horrors of war while singing the praises of life, Outkast blended funk, rock, and sizzling verses into one brain frying song that left nearly everything else in the dust. 3000 and Big Boi both showcased their superhuman rhyming abilities as a choir sang “POWER MUSIC! ELECTRIC REVIVAL!” It still sounds like it was made in the year 2200 and, while it might turn your party apocalyptic; the dance value can’t be ignored. 

5. Clint Eastwood- Gorillaz

Oh hi Del. Didn’t see you there. Yup, Tha Funkee Homosapien is the only MC to make this list twice, and with good reason. For Gorillaz’s first smash hit Del rose to another level. Damon Albarn threw down a stark, scary, and spaghetti western influenced background all while winking that he had “sunshine in a bag.” Each time those cymbal crashes came in, you held your breath, because Del was about to come through with another mindblowing verse. This was the opening rush of Gorillaz’s pop world dominance and there was no better way to start. As Albarn predicted “the future is coming on.”  

4. ALL CAPS- Madvillian
 
Now this was some proper villainy. Both of these mystery men were growing in respect and acclaim, then Madvilliany burst into the scene and, to quote Drake, “Nothing was ever the same.” Madlib’s twitching beat paid tribute to 60s TV shows and MF Doom, in his own strange way, called out weak rappers. Doom was laid back as he unspooled hypnotizing verses and rode Madlib’s delicious beat in a way that no other could. This was two supervillians at their mind boggling finest. Remember to call Doom “your majesty” and ALL CAPS when you spell the man’s name.  

3. Deep Space 9mm- El-P
 
Give or take Aesop Rock’s “None Shall Pass,” no song in the 2000s captured the Bush era paranoia quite like “Deep Space 9mm.” Paired with one of the most thought provoking music videos of its time, El proved to be the most dangerous double threat in the game. The coldness of his flow was only matched by his chilly and industrial beat. He called out the apathy of people who turned a blind eye to injustices perpetrated by the government, pondering if he should live “existence on the fringes and such” or join in. “My generation just sit like ducks.” He also takes shots at his old record label: “Sign to Rawkus? I'd rather be mouth fucked by Nazis unconscious.” “9mm” claws at its restraints, refusing to be dumbed down by the idiot box and watch the ideas of privacy washed away. With the harrowing issue of Drone Warfare hanging over our heads El released “Drones over Bklyn,” but “Deep Space 9mm” still stands as a harrowing exercise in creeping terror. It’s rare to seek out discomfort, but you’ll crave it after “9mm.”    

2. Turn the Page- The Streets
 
Here in ‘murica, U.K. based hip-hop doesn’t get much respect, but it was even worse in the early 2000s. It was a joke, or worse, no one knew about it. Enter Mike Skinner; London based producer and rapper who recorded the entirety of his debut LP in his closet with a mattress as his soundproofing. To put it mildly, Original Pirate Material dominated. According to Metacritic it was the best reviewed album of 2002 and made dozens of end of the year lists. And “Turn the Page” was the cinematic opener. Inspired by Gladiator, Skinner compared his own budding career and balancing the 9 to 5 life to battles in Rome. Over that truly epic string section, Skinner made one of the most compelling sounds of the 2000s, stringing complex rhymes that weaved and ducked, dodging lesser rapper’s quips. It rose above, not just above other hip-hop tracks, but most other tracks of the 2000s into some sort of musical paradise that could make any situation into a stately quest. Not bad for a genre that most people across the pond hadn’t even heard.  

1. Save Yourself- Aesop Rock
 
Hip-hop is in a perpetual state of being saved. Now a days, people are claiming that Kendrick will sweep the major label slog under the rug, but there’s a new savior every few years. At the beginning of the 2000s Aesop had some sage advice for the rap purists trying to resuscitate hip-hop. “Next time you wanna be a hero, try saving something other than hip-hop/And maybe hip-hop'll save you from the pitstop!” Ace has always been a paradox, he doesn’t care about the state of hip-hop and yet he’s one of the best in the game. He made an album about the draining life that is the cubical week while twisting rhymes and words like a Brooklyn based James Joyce. Really, about half a dozen Aesop songs could have topped this list: “We’re Famous,” “9-5er’s Anthem,” “Daylight,” “None Shall Pass,” I could go on. But “Save Yourself” stands as his most complete song, and perhaps the most complete hip-hop song of the 2000s. For classic Ace fans “Save Yourself” is full of brain warping flows (“Who am I? Jabberwoky Superfly!”) and he proves that he doesn’t have to sacrifice speed with his jaw dropping second verse that makes Aesop both the best lyrical rapper in the game and a speed demon. It’s weird as all hell, but it sums up the strange factured world of 2000s hip-hop. 

The 6 Best Albums of 2014...so far...

Benji- Sun Kil Moon

The opening track of Benji starts with a guitar line that crawls back and forth between grief stricken and meditative. It sums up the ebb and flow of the entire album in that way. Mark Kozelek throws us a few laughs here and there, but they’re only momentary reprieves on Benji’s long somber road. Mortality and morality loom over Kozelek’s rambling tales as he touches down on minuscule details. He describes the crimes of infamous serial killer Richard Ramirez with terrifying precision. “A little girl in the Tenderloin was his first/In the laundry room took a dollar from her fist,” he sings over dusky guitars. No one cuts quite as deep as Kozelek from the shockingly raw “Dogs” to the nearly 11 minute self-reflection of “I Watch the Film ‘The Song Remains the Same.’” More so than any gindcore or industrial album you’ll find this year, Benji ain’t for the faint of heart, but once you dive in, there’s no coming back.  

Christmas Island- Andrew Jackson Jihad

“In the days before the damage no one knew that they were happy.” Knowing Andrew Jackson Jihad, they're probably ones that did the damage. Christmas Island is another incredibly fucked up release filled with snipers, Nazis, and a fuck-ton of bullshit. “Stevie Wonder to the bullshit baby!” shouts out Sean Bonnette on the opening track. The newly expanded AJJ conduct one hell of a therapy session that goes “You’re fucked up, I’m fucked up, we’re all fucked up.” It’s the feel bad hit of the summer, as you laugh at jokes you totally shouldn’t laugh at and listen to an album that might just warm your blackened little heart.

CLPPNG- Clipping.

It’s a desolate fucking waste land that Clipping. paints. “Once upon a time there was a moral to a story/But fuck it, they need some ends,” spits Clipping.’s menacing ringleader/MC Daveed Diggs after asking “Who need a fix? You? You?” and if you’re for visceral blood curdling thrills this is your fix. From the cannibalistic killing spree backed by percussion that brings new meaning to “industrial” on “Body and Blood” to the epic gangsta mantra of “Dominoes” Clipping. have the best of both worlds. The manic evil production and the gritty street level bars combine into something horrifying and new.    

In Conflict- Owen Pallett

Owen Pallett needs to write a musical. I’m completely serious. He’ll win a Tony if he can get the funds up and properly put it on Broadway. I say this because In Conflict has all the marks of a grand stage play, abet one made in the 22^nd century. Pallett (with a little help from Brian Eno and the Prague Filmharmonic) creates the year’s most stately songs. These pieces are all based in the world of chamber music, but Pallett becomes bored quickly. He hops from dance, to indie, to synth pop, using each as a filter on his brilliant base. It’s one of the most progressive and forward looking releases of 2014 with Pallett seemingly holding a crystal ball that shows future musical trends. And of course Pallett’s scoring mastery is as stunning as ever. It’s clear he’s saved his best work for himself (sorry Taylor Swift).

Piñata- Freddie Gibbs & Madlib

Piñata is the best hip-hop album of 2014. Don’t even try to argue. The touchstones of recent hip-hop (Kanye, Kendrick, El-P) have broadened rap both musically and thematically. Piñata doesn’t try to, nor does it need to. Listening to Madgibbs is like being served your favorite dish freshly made by a five star chief. You’ve had it before, but it’s never been this good. Gibbs flows like a reincarnated Tupac and Madlib delivers his soulful and bonkers beats. “Thuggin’” “Shitsville” “Uno” and nearly every other song on the album are paragons of hip-hop excellence.  Damn straight Gibbs claims he’s “Number One.”

Tomorrow’s Hits- The Men

There’s a neon glow on the album cover and a neon glow on every note of Tomorrow’s Hits. Not the Vegas neon that burns the eyes, but the dimly humming sort that lights up the dingy bar just enough for you to see the grand mess of it all. That blurred eyed drunkenness is what The Men thrive off of. They play late night classic rock grooves that the DJ can only get away with because it’s two in the morning and the station manager isn’t demanding he play “Hotel California” for the billionth time that day. They also love them some raucous madness that seems ready to completely fall apart at a second’s notice. Lead howler Mark Perro plays the most pissed off version of Bob Dylan possibly imagined over speed addicted brass on “Pearly Gates” and the band rolls into one of the best rock n’ roll songs made in decades on “Different Days,” where Perro screams “Man I hate being young!” and that’s the balance they strike. They still have the energy and enthusiasm of teenagers mixed with the hilariously jaded edge of the touring life. They’re the band playing that neon lit bar that night, reviling in every second of its drunken glory.   

Objectively Perfect 3: Fireworks

                        

If there’s one thing more powerful than beer goggles it’s nostalgia glasses. Kickstarter is based on the hope that the vision given by those glasses is powerful enough to overlook how little is in your bank account, and those sights of the future often win out. Hell, my first song on this series was from a damn Pokémon game and, despite how grand it is on its own merits, I’ll admit that my rose tinted view of “Lillycove City” probably helped propel it onto this “illustrious” list.

But it’s a rare song that feels nostalgic when it has no root in your past. I’ve never been a huge Animal Collective fan and I only started to wonder my way into Strawberry Jam this year, so why does it feel like I’ve known “Fireworks” for my entire life? It was released in 2007 and seems like a brother track to another ’07 masterpiece “All My Friends.” “Fireworks” is happy, bitter, sweet, and melancholy all at once. The top level of the song is made of the “ee-ah-ee” vocals paired with chiming piano that starts as whimsical, but drops into more somber waters as the line progresses. Underneath, the distorted chord progression drives the song along just as much as chugging backwards drumming from Panda Bear. Of course Avey Tare’s vocal performance is stunning. It’s surprising his voice can still be intact after the chorus as he flips between chest and head singing along with beautiful vocal lines turning into yelling within seconds.

But the core of “Fireworks” are Tare’s lyrics. There’s a cry in his voice when he sings “I was dreamin’ of just you,” and “I can't lift you up cause my mind is tired, it's family beaches that I desire.” There’s a longing implanted in every note. The verses have the more jaded side of things and the chorus turns into a fantasy world. AC are desperately looking for a celebration in the midst of humdrum days and the chorus serves as an escape, but early on Tare’s delivers his most crushing lines:

“Then I start to feel tragic, people greet me, I'm polite/"What's the day? "/"What are you doing? "/"How's your mood? "/"How's that song?"/Man it passes right by me, it's behind me, now it's gone.”

Perhaps the false nostalgia comes from my empathy towards Tare. People around you trying to be nice and you can only return the kindness with either apathy or lies. It’s a tough spot to be in, realizing that efforts from everyone else can become completely ineffective. The honesty of “Fireworks” makes it weirdly triumphant. It’s acceptance; acceptance that the daydreams take over and numb you to the outside world. And if your daydreams are this spectacular, why wouldn’t you want to stay? 

Objectively Perfect 2: The Rat

                          

In 1977 the Voyager spacecrafts launched off into the outer reaches of space with two golden records. These shimmering audiophile wet dreams held recordings of greetings in various languages and music from around the world. Some of the songs were placed there to show off the genres of earthly music, from Bach to Chuck Berry, but another portion of the music contained in those golden grooves were supposed to represent human emotions. Most famously, Blind Willie Johnson's "Dark Was the Night, Cold Was the Ground" was included to represent the human feeling of loneliness. I have my own ideas on what a modern Voyager record should contain and if we’re talking emotions, “The Rat” would be my absolute pick for anger.

The seething rage of “The Rat” is surprising and terrifying for a few reasons. First of all, The Walkmen are known for tugging on the heart strings, not for stomping heads in. Compare the warmth of a song like “Heaven” to “The Rat” and you’d think the band is stricken by a case of schizophrenia. Secondly is the genre The Walkmen play in, they’re no blackened death metal band or a grindcore act, far from it. Their early days were spent in the New York post-punk revival long peers like The Strokes and this is more vicious a song than any of their fellow NYC rockers ever pulled off.  

“The Rat” has focus, a certain intensity. It’s not a RPG going off; it’s a carefully shot sniper rifle; a precision strike of a violent outburst. The opening guitar is something so dark that it creates anxious fear as Hamilton Leithauser’s so-hoarse-he’s-about-to-lose-his-voice vocals are all aimed at one perpetrator. “You've got a nerve to be asking a favor/You've got a nerve to be calling my number.” He doesn’t scream those words, instead you feel like he’s holding back just the slightest bit, which makes it scarier, like he’s two seconds from completely going off the rails. Matching Leithauser in rage is Matt Barrick’s drum work. Barrick is a criminally underrated drummer and this is his finest performance. The never ending run of 16^th notes could be enough, but he madly dashes across his toms and abuses his snares in the seconds between. Combine that with Leithauser’s mad yells of “Can't you hear me? I'm bleeding on the wall!” and the horror of it all goes up another notch. Then it all turns down. In volume at least.

The bridge is only made up of Leithauser and a scratchy guitar, but it cuts even deeper as the band lays down their complaints. “When I used to go out, I would know everyone that I saw/Now I go out alone if I go out at all,” are the only words sung, but it’s clear from Leithauser’s tone that the happy times are a far distant memory and all he can see is darkness in his future. It all fires back up into the blood-lust filled chorus and the guitars swallow the sound with a brooding energy. It’s a song that can turn the brightest days into anger soaked hours. It becomes a visceral thrill, you might be having one of the most relaxing weeks possible, but for “The Rat”’s four minutes you'll be bitter, angry, jaded and ready to go out and kick some teeth in.     

Objectively Perfect 1: Lillycove City

          

I can’t quite explain why I enjoy waltzes so much. I grew up classical music, but I listened and sang to it so often that I soon became tired of chamber ornamentation and for years wouldn’t touch the genre. But in the same way Fleetwood Mac came back into my collection so did classical music. Those early, formative years were so steeped in “The Chain” and “Ave Maria” that somewhere in the reptile part of my brain they’ve become fused to my enjoyment of music. It’s the waltz, in particular though, that I hold an affinity for. It’s so simple at its base, but the bouncy form and light stride are soothing.

As I was getting back into classical music I discovered that many of my favorite video game soundtracks held songs indebted to European composers. I first noticed it with the stunning Mario Galaxy score and I worked my way backwards until I was at the games that enthralled me as a child; the Pokémon series. I played all of them from Crystal onward a truly mindboggling amount, but the one game cartridge that still holds my heart is Pokémon Emerald. Even as I’ve grown and moved away from video games it stands as a touchstone in my nostalgic galleries. This was, in part, due to the music. I didn’t truly notice it at the time, and I certainly didn’t examine the score under close scrutiny, but those bit-compositions were wonderful. One song was better than the rest. One song had such a strong stake in my childhood that I jumped with joy when I found a fully orchestrated version. “Lillycove City” is, and continues to be, one of the best songs ever placed into a video game. The waltz has all the trademarks of a grand ¾ track. It bounces along with a spirited, yet calm, energy and the main melody line has a great habit of sneaking into my mind, making me hum along. But it’s the small immaculately crafted touches on the sides of that main melody that cement this track as flawless. The airy accordion in the back ground floats effortlessly along with the swaying string section, and the composer was obviously had a flexible mind. The track elegantly flows from staccato lines that give plucked violins the spotlight only seconds before languid legato sections sweep in carrying the song away to its climax. At its base the song seems infused with a smile inducing energy that reminds me of Miyazaki films as much as it does European ball rooms. 

Strange Journeys in Criticism

                          



Journalism is filled with grey space. It’s hard to turn out a story that is truly black or white. Wade into the world of entertainment journalism and things get even murkier. For my work I am, on a near weekly basis, sent free music, receive free tickets to concerts, and am allowed to watch/listen to content that hasn’t be released to the general public. This makes skirting the line between Public Relations and Criticism hard. It would be so easy to shower praise on the artists who give me free things so I can keep getting free things and start positive (if unethical) connections. I’m sure it’s the same way for movie and game critics, but the Music Journalism world (and my own world) recently had an event that blurred the line between PR and criticism. A trio of prominent musicians attacked Complex Magazine over perceived “spineless” writing and in my own, infinitely less important, experience a rapper tried to set lines between fan and critic.

To Complex first. Last year the New York based zine featured Australian rapper Iggy Azalea on their cover. A few weeks ago they reviewed her debut album, giving it a mediocre score. Azalea didn’t directly go after them; instead Lorde went to her tumblr and said this:

“bugs me how publications like complex will profile interesting artists in order to sell copies/get clicks and then shit on their records? it happens to me all the time- pitchfork and that ilk being like “can we interview you?” after totally taking the piss out of me in a review. have a stance on an artist and stick to it. don’t act like you respect them then throw them under the bus.”

Azalea bolstered Lorde’s post with these tweets:

To round out the trio, Grimes also agreed with Lorde’s and Azalea’s sentiments.

And now to my own life. Last month I reviewed Cunninlyguists’ Strange Journey Volume 3. I thought it was a decent release and gave it a 3/5. I called it uneven, but I also said that some of the songs were among the best released in 2014. Hours later Cunninlyguists producer Kno went on a twitter rant against me and my publication. He first informed me that Strange Journey wasn’t an album, but a mixtape, so I had reviewed it incorrectly (I won’t get into the semantics of what is a mixtape and what isn’t, but he was selling it for money and it’s listed as an album under rateyourmusic.com so I stand by my review). It soon became clear that he was angrier about the review itself rather than the mixtape argument.

So what do we take away from this? Complex did its own excellent response to Lorde and Azalea by saying this:

“Lorde declaring “have a stance on an artist and stick to it” is a bizarre notion for an organization like Complex, which is to say bizarre for any media organization that claims to have any journalistic integrity. No one should stick to their opinion when new facts (possibly in the form of new music) are made available that can alter your views. Art and artistry are fluid things.”

In Lorde’s defense I have seen publications, most notably Rolling Stone, run a cover of an artist and then trash their work in the same issue. To me that seems cheap, but Complex sums up a different issue often seen in politics. No one likes a flip-flopper, even if there are valid reasons behind personal views changing. The time between Azalea’s cover photo and review was around eight months. In the cosmic sense that’s a short time, but for journalists it might as well be an eon. Tweets, videos, and entire albums come out in the meantime and our constant searching for new information leads to new opinions. To quote The Guess Who “Seasons changed and so have I.” If my musical tastes hadn’t changed I’d still be listening to Aaron Carter and the Ba-ha men because I liked them when I was five (but my deep appreciation of Weird Al from that time period still stands). Kno, rather ironically, went after Lorde, Azalea, and Grimes with these tweets:

Despite this, Kno has a similar fallacy; you can’t be a critic if you’re a fan. I find this laughable as every music journalist/critic I’ve met has gotten into the business because they are fans. Some artist galvanized them to pick up a pen and write (or turn on the computer and type). I am a fan of Cunninlynguists and I continue to be a fan. A week before my review of the new album I saw them live and gave a glowing concert recap over at Deadendhiphop, but because I wasn’t keen on one thing they did (in a massive catalog) I’m no longer a fan. I’m the enemy. Artists like Kno, Lorde, and other seem to want a neutered version of the music press that acts like a PR team. For Lorde, if you ask her for an interview you’d better give her a good review afterwards. For Kno, fans’ can’t have changing opinions. There wouldn’t be a point then. Every album would be a 10/10 and artists would stay in the same lane, never changing, because there’s no one there to point out flaws.