A DAY IN THE LIFE OF PITCHFORK

In the ten years since first discovering Pitchfork, here's how I now use the site: I open up the home page, and scan the "news" and "features" for names of artists that might be heading out on tour, premiering track lists, announcing collaborations, or debuting cover art. Any of these things usually means a record is already available somewhere on the internet. Eventually I mouse over the five reviews of the day to make sure I have any record I care about (or recognize something else I want; these records are obviously available for free download). I only read the reviews if I personally know the artist.

I've been thinking about the 'Fork more recently, partly because that's what you do when you finish an album, but mostly because I feel the utility of the site is nose-diving. This stems partly from the lumpy redesign with it's imbalanced column widths and annoying sub-links. It's also just a sign o' the times, another troubled bastion in need of overhaul and reform.

Today seemed notable in that the site reviewed three albums which, like any "critic" that received an "advance" copy, I have been listening to for two or three months. Of course, I didn't receive a promo. I downloaded a "leak." I was surprised at the convergence of three records that rocked my February, March and April (new Phoenix, Diamond Watch Wrists, and Dark Night of the Soul). I decided peak at the reviews just for the hell of it, or as an experiment in understanding the world we live in (versus the world I live in). The reviews proved useless, which was my hypothesis. One line, from the DNOTS review really summed up the fantasy-land Pitchfork has become:

"This is one particular circumstance where a leak--even at 160kbps--is a net positive."

Nearly aloud, I wondered: when is a leak NOT a net positive? First off, think of all the time I save avoiding reviews of records I developed opinions about months ago (not kidding, in the dial-up Internet days I would read reams of crit before committing to buying an album). Furthermore, not buying the Phoenix record (or any of the other 3 gigabytes of music I consume monthly, on average) will help me afford the incipient $25 Phoenix live concert (and it will be my third time supporting the band). The soft awesomeness of the Diamond Watch Wrists album encouraged me to finally reach deeper into the elaborate mythology of Guillermo Scott Herren records and sideprojects. This will pay off in word of mouth and I'll finally be vigilant for eventual DJ nights or live shows. DSOTN reminded me of a dozen awesome artists that I've already supported in the past, chief among them David Lynch, from whom I buy coffee, pay for films and DVD's, and receive daily weather reports.

Even if a few of those "positives" seem distantly relevant, subjective, or, I don't know, sarcastic, what's the negative to a leak? I'm going to parlay the "it affects the artist" discussion to some other essay; Pitchfork is about getting me, the consumer, interested in a product. I'm going to support a great artist somehow, so a good song is a critical currency (no matter how I obtain it). As for the bit rate of the sound quality, I don't know anyone who can notice the difference. I think most people want to hear music, not recognize frequencies. This is all indicative of the breadth of change that's coming.

It's beyond time for critics and artists alike to take a cue from Jack White's Raconteurs project, which switched out the word "leaked" with the old fashioned-sounding "released." The Raconteurs' futuristic program involved writing great songs and sharing them as soon as they were mastered. Think about it: labels and artists (let's just call them "marketers") would have to create new systems of promotion that worked to propel music that is available into the loving arms of people that want it. Since most music becomes available as soon as it's mastered anyway, this would seem a logical adaptation. Release it when it's ready; sell it as you go. This will immediately bring lazier downloaders back into the "pay-for-it" tent, just because you'll eradicate the downloading-equals-having-it-first mind-set.

More important to Pitchfork's Crisis Of Utility, immediate releases would force critics to be more glib, saving thousand-word adjective-festivals for music that really transcends. Not every record needs to be subjectively (or objectively) mined. Excuse my French, but I didn't learn a single fucking thing from the 3,653 words Pitchfork excreted into five record reviews today. Well, I suppose I learned that someone named Jess Harvell thinks that "'pastoral' is the easy-reach adjective that will likely crop up if/when [Diamond Watch Wrists] is discussed," which is stultifyingly self-fulfilling. Oh, and some dude called Ryan Dombal thinks that "there's beauty in a sunset" and that "Phoenix are wringing it out." I'm sure I'll take that with me as I listen to those songs for the 15th time.

This wordy futility reminds me of a great bit of recent music crit: Paul Ford's 753 six-word reviews of MP3s from each 2008 SXSW performer. Sure "barely 741 songs to go now" might not do much justice to any particular sound, but it makes a useful statement about the state of the musical/critical union. Accessing music is only as complicated as knowing of it, so we don't really need some "professional" to tell us what he thinks. It's a song, not life insurance. Like the artists and managers and price points and (even) labels, critics need to adapt to the changing atmosphere, too. Millions of acute, poignant, indie-tastic, spazzy, scudding, goopy, militaristic, glitchy, plasticine, blistering, glycemic, skidding, elegiac, twee-as-fuck words from Pitchfork won't change that.