Last night I revisited Woebot's infamous jungle comp blog. Here's what he has to say about Reinforced's The Definition of Hardcore: "The search for the sickest, most insane sonics had pushed the crews into new territories. At this point it really does make sense to compare Hardcore to the...
Whereas what I heard, drunk, the other night, listening to the WYHs thread was music in search of hardcore, randomly pressing the buttons, hoping to find the correct sequence, and failing. Then it comes thrillingly into focus once you hit the early 90s
I can't stand that post-Brooker style of hyperbole you get in a lot of modern writing where people mistake personality for rants. All that "this is so bad it makes me want to chop off my balls" Or "this is so good I feel like I'm on air and gas" - totally devoid of personality and nuance, and really easy to produce once you've conjured up a few graphic similes.
My ideal critic is someone who has taste, but also linguistic flair and the ability to place things in a broader context of scenes and perspective.
There has to be a sense of music as the most important thing in the world and the most intense and electrifying experience. The sense that it all matters, life and death, vital signs of the health or sickness of humanity itself
That's how I wrote. You could feel the existential stakes reading one of my mixtape reviews in the Wire. You left each review a changed person, a person more intensely alive to the exquisite violence of life.