One of the things I appreciate about iTunes is the fields you can use to add extra tags to your songs.

As we discussed earlier most people use Genre as their default sorting system, but that is just tapping the surface of what you could get out of your music collection. If you have an extensive library, it would be worth your while to ‘polish’ these song tags so that you can create some great play-lists. Here are some essential tags you might want to consider using:

• Date – Should be the date of the song’s release, not the date of the album release. This is especially important when it comes to greatest hit compilations. Having the correct date allows you to listen to an artist’s evolution as a musician.
• Location – I put this in the Grouping header. I put the city, state/province, and country that the artists/band was born/formed in. Having a location can allow me to listen to bands from California or from Scotland.
• Other Info such as Member of XXX Band – I put this in the Comments header. When I do a search for the Police, I will also see my albums by Sting, Andy Summers, and Stewart Copeland. Again, it allows me to listen to an artist evolve as a musician.

Do you see what this creates? It becomes possible to sort music in a new way. You can create a play-list of your Australian Rock Bands from the 1980s. You will see new trends develop and your music will become more interesting.

Where do you find this information? My favorite site for this kind of information is AllMusic.com. Check it out.

Okay, we have imported, rated, and ran statistics on iTunes. But as your library gets bigger, it becomes more and more difficult to find artists and songs. Thankfully, iTunes uses the Music Genre as its basic sorting system which makes it easier to find the style of music you want to listen to.

Default Music Genres include: Classical, R&B, Rock, Jazz, etc. These are fine if you have 40-50 artists from diverse musical backgrounds, but what happens if you listen primarily to one genre of music? What do you do if you are a serious collector and listener of music and are frustrated with the standard labels? What do you do when you have over 100 artists and 10,000 songs? This blog post is meant to address that challenge.

To start with there are have been three approaches to what a Music Genre is:

1) People Ignore It. Some people say that Musical Genres are too presumptuous of a field to use. They are indignant that the label  ‘pigeon holes’ artists unfairly. That is partially true. Led Zeppelin is considered to be the earliest hard rock/metal band even though they played some folk inspired music. Are they British-Blues? Hard Rock? Something else? Some people will give up and just ignore the use of Music Genres which is to lose out on the benefits of having a proper sorting system. The fact is that Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd have more in common with each other than Louis Armstrong means that these similarities and differences should not be ignored. A label such as Music Genre is a tool, an imperfect one, but a necessary one to help you enjoy your music.

2) People Simplify It. For example, there has been past (failed) attempts to create a unified Genre Tree. The hope is that by finding the links between the different Music Genres we would then decide how to label a particular artist. Its a noble goal, but one that will never work because it operates on the mistaken assumption that Music Genres are linear things. It is the conventional wisdom that the Blues created Jazz which created R&B which created Rock & Roll which created Rock. Its nice and tidy, but makes a fundamental error of judgment.

While Artists and Music Genres do influence each other, this does not mean that one creates the other. Music Genres are very dynamic. We will find Artists influencing each other almost immediately. It happens too fast to say that there is a single lineage that all music comes from.  Instead, it seems more reasonable to think of Musical Genres as evolving alongside each other. This kind of thinking is what we find in Convergent Evolution, where species can evolve similar traits despite not being directly related as we see with the appearance of wings amongst birds and bats. We see the same thing in Music Genres with Traditional, Art, and Popular music forms all developing  independently in each nation. There is no evidence that a single nation gave all of the music traditions to the rest of the world.

3) People Confuse It. Some people think that a Music Genre is the same thing as the mood of the music. They believe that Chill Music is a Music Genre. Sorry, but it isn’t. Its a style that can be found across multiple Genres such as Jazz, Pop, Rock,  and Electronica. ‘Break-up songs’ and ‘Love songs’ are also not Genres. While mood or song intent is important, it is not the same as a Music Genre. That will be a topic for a future blog post.

Another pet peeve of mine is when Genres are labeled with biased terms like “Classic Rock” or “Contemporary Pop”. Who decides if something is classic or not? The word ‘contemporary’ is just as problematic. When Bing Crosby performed in the 1930s it was considered to be contemporary at that time. Yet now we call it Classic Pop making the term ‘Conteporary’ too relative to be helpful. Labels should be accurate and objective enough that they stand for something.

So what is proper way to work with Music Genres? Let’s start with a definition I came up with: “A Musical Genre is a combination of historical and social conditions that dynamically influences a collective musical interpretation of the world.”

My point is to stop thinking of Music Genre as a static, catch-all term to slot artists and bands into. Its an error I originally made as I started working with the concept of Music Genre. I have since discovered that instead we should think of Music Genre as a world view shared by a collective of artists. It is about how they make sense of what is happening around them. For example, the African American experience in the American South show at least two different ways of understanding life though music. The first was Gospel music and the second was the Blues. One was religious and the other was secular and each provided different interpretations about how life was treating them. The same can be same of Rock music in the late 1960s, where we see artists interpret life in different ways through heavy metal (Black Sabbath), power-pop (The Who), and progressive rock (Pink Floyd). All were British bands, but with very different ways of looking at and interpreting life.

Music Genres are dynamic. They are born and die, and sometimes are reborn. New ones are being created all of the time because life and society is dynamic and always changing. So, what should you label your genres? Whatever you want. Its your collection, but allow me to to suggest a Music Genre system based on the excellent resource at AllMusic.com:

List of AllMusic.com’s Music Genres

AllMusic.com not only possesses an extensive list of Genres, but also breaks them down into descriptive Sub-Genres. I use the Sub-Genres to create my own Music Genre labels for iTunes. Instead of iTunes standard labels of “Rock” or “Alternative and Punk”, I adopted  labels such as: “Rock: Mainstream”, “Rock: Punk”, “Rock: Metal”, etc.  Jazz music would  have labels like “Jazz: Dixie”, “Jazz: Swing”, “Jazz: Big Band”, etc. The Sub-Genres becomes a way to capture distinct eras of a Music Genre. My early 1960s British bands would be labeled “Rock: British Invasion”; while my 1970s bands that looked like hippies and preached peace would be my “Rock: Folk” bands.

Since I personally have very few Jazz or Blues artists, I don’t have any Sub-Genres for those artists. The dynamic is that the more artists of a particular Music Genre I collect, the more Sub-Genres I will need to better organize them. As soon as I start collecting 20+ artists of a particular Music Genre, I will employ Sub-Genres labels as a way to better organize my music library. Listening to more artists expands my musical tastes and knowledge which is captured in a more diverse list of Music Genres in iTunes.

Finally, there is no right way to label your music in iTunes. Its flexibility allows you to create as many different labels you want, but to be useful, your system should have just enough detail to allow you to find what is the same and what is different between your artists and songs. The purpose of iTunes’s Music Genre is one of utility, not about being right.

This next post is not as much a lesson as a confessional. Did you know you can combine music and statistics? iTunes has so many labels and tags that can be added to your music and the database that it is possible to evaluate this music with statistics. (Whatever that can be labeled can be measured and whatever that can be measured can be tracked with statistics).

I am a huge statistical geek (an obscure soccer league, political elections, band ratings, etc) so the idea of analyzing the music I listen to in new ways is like combining peanut butter and chocolate.

First of all here is the best page with links to great software that can help analyze your iTunes library. It is located at TuneQuest. Check it out…

I have tried two different programs. The most polished one is called SuperAnalzyer and it is pretty super. It creates some wonderful statistics and graphs.

SuperAnalzyer PDF Document

The other program is not listed on that page but is courtesy of a fabulous little script written by Scott Yanff.

iTunes Statistics Text Document

Now these statistics were taken late December 26, 2009 of my personal library. It is a snapshot of a year of iTunes use and listening. I was using iTunes before December 27, 2008 but it was on that date I decided to make a concerted effort to begin organizing my entire music collection after that date. I began reimporting everything with a deeper bit-rate and deleted my old, original collection. I did not use iTunes to listen to music, instead using it to create MP3 CDs to listen to at work and in the car. That all changed July 21, 2009 when I purchase an 8GB iPod Touch. Now I started using it to not only listen to music but to track my listening habits. A new OCD habit was formed and geekdom attained. 

I am listening to and then rating music in the same order I imported it. It is not a reflection of a particular bias. I love the New Wave stuff of the 1970s and 1980s but I imported that stuff much later and it is in my queue to listen to and rate. What is great about this method is that I am (re)discovering some great artists and songs. Creating new favorite lists of songs, albums, and artists is a brand new way to enjoy and appreciate music.

I am thinking that I will make it an annual ritual to do a statistical update of my listening habits with these two programs. It will be interesting to see how my musical tastes evolve.

I am not going to provide a book review, except summarize it by saying it is an entertaining memoir from a person from my generational cohort (so that means its full of Piss and Vinegar) who talks about his devotion to the Alternative Rock scene. What Sellers does in his Appendix that had my geek-senses all aflutter is create an elaborate, pretentious, but all so tasty combination of math and music fandom.

With John’s permission, I am pleased to make my own contribution to his formula by enshrining it in an Excel speadsheet. Now you too can see how your favorite artists align (or don’t) with John’s passion for the abrasive world of Alternative Rock. I would hope that John’s formula could become a template for others to tweak and create their own formulas.

Check it out…

John Sellars Formula

I am releasing for free ( hey, you get what you pay for ) my first album of Electronica music. I originally composed this music for a computer game that I had in development between 2004 and 2007, but that game has now been shelved and the music was good enough to still be shared.

So without further ado…

DJ Crsb is pleased to release his debut album called “Never Mind The Billogs Here’s Chris Billows”.

Yes, corny is what I aim for, but you will find the music not reflecting that tone. I might not be taking myself too seriously as far as the album name and sleeve is concerned, but I did work pretty diligently on this stuff and am proud of it.

Check it out and Merry Christmas to you.

Presents

(1) Standoff 2:31

(2) Duel 1:54

(3) Rising 1:51

(4) Chalk Shock 2:06

(5) Crystal Lullaby 2:12

(6) Fairy Tale Down 2:53

(7) It’s Never Too Late To Rewind 2:46

(8) Soft Space Scrap 3:11

Once you begin importing all of your music, what do you do next? Rate them! iTunes has a robust 5 star rating system that allows you to separate the wheat from the chaff.

Since rating music is considered to be a personal matter, there are some who think that it does not matter how these ratings are arrived at. Personally I believe in having some standards or rules when it comes to deciding how to rate music. Here are some suggested standards:

1) Don’t confuse bad music as being the same as music you don’t like. Good and bad is pretty relative (though not completely) when it comes to music. Strive to be objective about what you are rating for. Is  it about how the music makes you feel? Do you like the instrumentals? The lyrics? Is it what the artist stands for? The production values?

2) Rate only music that you honestly can appreciate. If you don’t like Rap music, then don’t rate it until you have given it an honest try and can appreciate what it trying to do. I think its an form of intellectual dishonesty to rate something you don’t understand. The challenge is to blend personal opinion with some kind of objective criteria.

3) Don’t be lazy and rate everything 5 Stars or 3 Stars or whatever. Yep, I’m judgmental. Giving every song 5 stars is making the rating function useless and why even don’t bother using it?

4) You will likely rate different kinds of musical moods or themes more favorably than others. It is normal to have a natural bias. I personally have a low tolerance for sappy love songs from the 50’s. I find they are just too syrupy for me. Instead, I am attracted to artists who have a dark, ironic, and melancholy sound. According to my 5 star rating system, if the song is competently delivered, even if it is a theme / mood that I do not like then I will rate it the minimum of 2 Stars. Objectively the song is competent and fine, but it simply does not appeal to me.

5) You should listen a few times before rating the music. I have found myself changing some of my ratings higher or lower because I hear the song differently the next time I hear them. I tend to listen to the CDs three to four times, before importing it into iTunes. Once in iTunes, I then will listen to it a few more times before rating it. It is rigorous, but somebody has to too it.

6) The purpose of rating music is to help you find out more about what you like. Its a process of discovery. Music is a fantastic thing that always offers something new as long as you are looking for it. A diligent rating system will organically and even magically create a personal stream of favorite artists / moods / and genres. Its almost like a form of self-discovery.

It takes work to do this, but if there is one quality that I possess, it is an almost obsessive need to complete things. Its a bit of my OCD coming out . And like anything that requires effort, the rewards reflect the energy you put into it. The question is what does a 1 Star song mean in contrast to a 3 Star song? I have created a rating system for iTunes that is a variation on the BilLOGs Rating System:

1 Star = A song better not released. To get labeled the same as a steaming pile is ironically not done from an emotional perspective, but from an attempted objective perspective. 1 Star songs are those cursed with terrible sound, usually due to poor production choices and/or technical problems. It signifies an amateur effort which should rarely happen in professionally released music. Another way of thinking about this: I listened to it and don’t want to ever hear it again since the poor production or recording issues gets in the way of enjoying the music.

2 Stars = A song that is okay/fine but does not appeal to me. This is where music genres that I might not fully appreciate or enjoy would go. A 2 Star rating is not an indication of bad music, but just a genre/theme that does not do much for me. This is where aesthetics or taste comes in in contrast to the 1 Star rating. Another way of thinking about this:  I listened to it and would consider listening to it again if I was bored and had nothing else to listen to (which is highly unlikely).

3 Stars = A song that I liked and appeals to me. This is music that I would consider to be good music (from a personal perspective). These songs will be in a genre / mood / theme that resonates with me. Another way of thinking about this: I listened to it and would want to hear it about once a month, would hum along, and consider it to capture a particular mood.

4 Stars = A song that I am really fond of and have become attached to. This is music I would consider to be great music that best represents a particular artist or genre. Another way of thinking about this: I listened to it and would want to hear it again every week. This song would get me humming and moving along to it. It would be the best example of a particular mood or theme.

5 Stars = A song that I love. This is music that spans genres and generations. It is the best example of music. The stuff that reaches into my gut, gives me goosebumps, makes my hair stand on end, puts me into convulsions… alright I am exaggerating but you get the idea Another way of  thinking about this is: I can listen to this song multiple times in a row, every hour, and every day. This is the best of music that cuts across time and place for me. It is not defined by a mood, but instead defines a mood.

Since I have publicly disclosed my love affair with iTunes, I thought I would share some the my lessons in love.

The first lesson I learnt in importing one’s music library into iTunes is: Do it right from the beginning. (Not really helpful eh?)

What I mean by “right”, is that you should import all of your songs off the entire CD, and do it at the top end of the bit-rate range.

The first mistake I made is that when I started doing the importing about two years ago, I was anxious about running out of hard drive space. I would try to pick the top five songs off every CD. When I started importing my CDs, I would listen to them, identify which tracks that I wanted to import into iTunes, write those down, do the import, and finally place the CD in storage. It became a headache in having to debate when a song made the cut or didn’t.

Well, I eventually learned that a song that I might have not liked when I first heard it, might be worth re-listening to when prompted by an article or recommendation. Now I had to go dig the CD out of storage and then insert it, find the track, etc. It would be so much easier to go to iTunes and load the track to play instantly.

The second mistake I made is that I was importing at a lower or shallower bit-rate. I started with 128 and later moved up to 160 bit. I then decided that it would be best to do the most optimized bit-rate of space and sound. My settings are: 192kbps / VBR-on, Highest-on 44.100 kHz, Smart-on, Filter-on

I am now re-ripping a bunch of CDs because I was too cheap to begin with.

And I am keeping to MP3 format and not using the Apples AAP format mostly for legacy purposes. I still burn MP3 CDs for use in my car and various CD players. Even though I am sure in five to ten years, MP3 CDs will not be required, the MP3 format is just too ubiquitous to be usurped by the next generation of digital music.

I have loved music for as long as I can remember. Playing music on records (I still remember my first record player and albums when I was six), then to cassettes, and then CDs. But it was the combination of music and computers that opened up new possibilities to think about music.

Combining music with computers in the form of MP3 files was a revelation for me, but I struggled with finding a program that would do everything I wanted. I tried everything except iTunes since I wrongly believed that I needed an iPod to use it and that it would not play or catalog my MP3 files, just the ones purchased off the iTunes store. So about two years ago, I decided to see what everyone was raving about, I downloaded version 7 and immediately fell in love.

What charmed me was that my most wanted features at that time were being provided:

• iTunes provided a clean and attractive interface that controls the folders of the MP3 files. Unlike many other control freaks out there, I don’t care what the file or folder is named, I just care that the files are there and easily found.
• iTunes allowed me to create MP3 CDs with customizable and dynamic playlists. If I wanted a Punk CD, I just create a dynamic smart-playlist that sorts out Punk bands in the Genre heading and its all there.
• These playlists can be also ordered in any fashion I see fit. If I want to create a customized playlist that focuses on year, genre, and mood, I can easily do this. I do not need to follow the default folder system that many other MP3 list makers do.
• iTunes usually tags compilation / greatest hit albums with the songs individual dates which was really important to me. I don’t care what year a compilation comes out, I care when a song is released.

So now for the past 10 months I have been importing every one of my CDs into iTunes. So far I am up to 10,000 songs being imported and there are many more to go. iTunes not only satisfied me when it first came out, but continues to be improved and is up to version 9.

And Apple sure knows how to market. Not only did they provide a superior free product, but the software’s appeal eventually lured me to a recent purchase of an iPod Touch about two months ago which I love.

I have been manipulated into marriage with Apple through an affair with iTunes. And I could’nt be happier being had.

For me, I remember making a conscious decision when I was about 17 years old to give up on playing music. I loved it but not enough to want to play it. Playing music did not resonate with me the way it would resonate with somebody who needed to play it. I can play music and believe I would have been a competent musician if I put in hours into it. Its just that I have other interests.

My friend says that he desperately wanted to play music but just could not. He said that people would show him how to play the guitar but he could not get his fingers to move the right way. It is was such a struggle that he decided that if it is not going to come easy, then its simply was not meant to be.

He said that this proves that we both lacked talent. I disagreed with him. Part of the reason for that disagreement is that we lacked a definition of what Talent is.

is Talent drive or is it innate ability to play? Is it both? Or something else?

First of all, I believe that Talent cannot be measured by being famous or popular.

Secondly, Talent is not just the speed by which one learns to play music. That is a combination of intelligence and coordination.

Thirdly, Talent is not just the personal drive and effort that is required to be good at something. Stubborn persistence is also a staple of successful politicians and businesspeople.

I believe that the technical aspects of playing music are available to most people, but that there is something else… An intangible element that makes a person connect so strongly with the activity in question that it is part of everything that they do. Talent is something innate but also environmental. It is like a gene that is triggered by the environment and then comes to possess a life and dynamism of its own.

For the sake of illustration, lets use a musical chord to illustrate how Talent works.

Somebody strikes a nice sounding chord on a guitar. The chord is there hanging in the air. What created the chord?

The first raw material would be the guitar.

The second raw material would be the guitar player.

But that is not enough. The chord needs an environment to thrive in. If there was no atmosphere for the sound waves to travel through, the chord would not exist. The acoustics of the place the chord is played is also relevant. The chord will also be imbued with more energy if there is somebody else to listen to it. Finally, the person who is doing the playing also needs to decide if the energy created is meaningful. It needs to resonate both ways. There has to be the right two-way encouragement.

Michael Jordon is an amazing basketball player. But his talent would not be appreciated in a society that had no basketball. He would not have been encouraged to play. But, the environment is only a piece of it. It also needs to resonate internally, it needs to fit with one’s own self-image and a will to do it. Michael Jordon not only had the talent, but also wanted to use it.

So I would have to say that there are four essential components to Talent:

1) Physical/Mental Ability

2) Environmental Trigger and Support

3) Personal Resonance

4) External Recognition (a talent that is not recognized as such will not be valued and perhaps even be seen as a curse)

A person can possess the ability to play, but if lacking a supportive environment, or a personal disinterest, that talent will be untapped. If it does not resonate, then no matter how beautiful it may sound, it is not going to work. I personally lacked personal resonance. Could I get it back? I don’t know. To this day, I am not hungry to create music. I dabble a little bit, but that is all and I don’t feel robbed by it. Unfortunately for my friend, he does feel cheated, and perhaps for him he had the personal resonance but lacked the physical/mental ability to do it.

And so in the end he was actually right. We both lacked Talent because each of us lacked at least one of the essential components of Talent.

J.P. Simmon (link lost) wrote:
“Music – is not an ethical realm, but a realm of feeling. It not about ethics (right and wrong) but about how one experiences something. Even shock rock is offensive to so many people, they are doing it for themselves. It is offensive to their tastes – though biting the heads off animals does pass it into the realm of ethics. It would be absurd to charge a person for murder when they commit suicide – it would be absurd to judge a personal experience such as music based on something that is right and wrong.”

Jordan Francke wrote:
“As a cinema major I am fortunate to have film history and terminology at my disposal to vocalize my opinions. This education helps me to explore my own preferences in cinema, but it does not give me any authority to place objective value on cinematic works. It may seem slightly disconcerting that everything is open-ended with no worldly means of determining the quality of human creation. But, if art were like a math problem with only one correct way to be expressed, life would be exceedingly dull. Everyone would hold the same ideals and see the world in an identical fashion. There would be no more intricacy and extremes in life.”

Jeff Jarvis wrote:
“Would I have critics? Yes, but their roles would change. They still should give their views and set art in context. But rather than issuing pronouncements and bon mots, unchallenged, from the screening room, I’d want them to spark the discussion about entertainment: find the good voices, pinpoint the arguments, even referee debates among artists and critics. A great critic should be a magnet for fascinating discussion. Take the debate around politics at the Guardian’s Comment is Free and imagine similar discussion over the arts, with critics acting not as pontificators but as opinionated moderators, even generous hosts.”

Jay Nordlinger gave a talk at Steinway Hall, New York, back in 2003 entitled “Who Cares What Critics Say?”. Its eloquence and power prompts its full inclusion here:

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s a pleasure to be with you.

I thank Hilton Kramer and Roger Kimball for all they do to produce The New Criterion. I thank all who work under them, too. Hilton and his friend Samuel Lipman did a marvelous thing, 20 years ago, when they founded The New Criterion. I feel privileged to write for it. I feel privileged to read it, too! I have long considered The New Criterion part of my continuing education.

So, I thank all of you who support this journal. Your gifts are well directed. And, along with so many others, I’m especially grateful for Donald Kahn, a benefactor of The New Criterion, and of a great many institutions and individuals around the world. I’ve called him an Esterházy for our time. Moreover, he’s a lot of fun.

And, before I get down to business, I’d like to say that it is a particular pleasure to be with Bill Buckley, and with Pat Buckley.

It was some years ago that I was first asked to speak on “the role of the critic.” I have to tell you, I hesitated. I didn’t want to accept the assignment. And the reason is, I have always operated largely on feel. I was loath to jeopardize my work by the awful activity of thinking. I did not want to be subject to, what we call in golf, “paralysis by analysis.” If there’s one thing I dread, it’s being frozen at the keyboard. The truth is, much of what I have accomplished has been done by sheer bulling ahead, for better or worse. A critic has to be obstinate, cocksure—even heedless, at times. Otherwise, he can be swallowed up in a sea of hedging, and anxiety, and doubt.

Well, I did think about the role of the critic, those years ago, and I have since thought about it further. You’ll be relieved to know that I have reached certain conclusions. The first thing we must say—rush to say—is that we must not exaggerate the role of the critic. I’m sure any musicians present would agree! Of all the roles there are to play in music, that of critic must be very small indeed. Many people would put it at the bottom of the list, or quite near it. There are composers, pianists, conductors, singers, teachers, impresarios, limo drivers, hair stylists—the critics are barely an afterthought!

So, who are the most important, most famous music critics in history? They are, probably, Eduard Hanslick and Julius Korngold. Most people have never heard of them—but they have heard of the composers whom they were most closely associated with: Brahms and Mahler. That’s the point.

Hanslick was the most influential critic in Vienna, during the time of Brahms, his friend and hero. He was also an anti-Wagnerite, proving that you can’t be right about everything. His successor as the top critic in Vienna was Julius Korngold, now best known as the father of the composer Erich Wolfgang Korngold—and there’s our point again. Korngold was a great friend and booster of Mahler, who, as you know, was an intensely controversial figure. There are no anti-Mahlerites today—at least none who are too public. But in the composer’s own time, Vienna, and the rest of Europe, were swimming in them.

Did Korngold’s activities hasten the acceptance of Mahler? Maybe. But Mahler’s hour, owing to his genius, surely would have come, no matter who scribbled what.

George Bernard Shaw and Virgil Thomson were famous music critics, too, but they are famous now, obviously, for other things: Shaw for being . . . well, Shaw, and Thomson for being a composer. If anyone could cite any of their music criticism, it would be a great surprise. Thomson, if he is known for anything, critically, is known for his brutal dismissal of Tchaikovsky. Better for Thomson that he be known for his music, some of which is really quite fine, and deserves to endure.

Closer to our own day, Claudia Cassidy, the critic in Chicago, was famed, feared, and loathed. One of the reasons George Solti didn’t take the conducting job in Chicago on first being offered it was that he feared he couldn’t survive Cassidy—that she wouldn’t give him a fair shake. Can you imagine? But chances are, few people remember Cassidy’s name today, even in her hometown.

Out in Los Angeles, the critic for many years was Martin Bernheimer, another object of fear and loathing. His nickname was “Martin Slash-and-burn-heimer.” I understand that a woman in L.A. once walked up to him and said, “Mr. Bernheimer, I’m sorry, but I can’t stand you.” He replied, warmly, “Oh, don’t worry, dear: No one can.”

Standing up to public opinion is one thing a critic does; shaping it is another. I feel we should probably do both. What we should never do is do it consciously; we should simply write what we think is correct, letting the chips fall where they may.

Now, a bracing question: Why have music criticism at all? I tell you that, when I was young, and a musician, I was puzzled by the very existence of music criticism. It didn’t seem very helpful. It wasn’t performance, it wasn’t composition, it wasn’t teaching, really —it was just, mere, criticism. It seemed crabbed and pointless and vain. So a guy liked it, so what? So a guy hated it, so what?

Perhaps my question should have been more narrow: Why have concert reviews? As a kid, I could see the utility of, say, movie reviews: They could help you decide whether to see a particular flick. But a concert? That was over and done with. Who wanted to read about that? A review just gave some guy a chance to spout off, in public, and that was a waste of newspaper space.

Now that I’m the guy spouting off, my opinion has changed somewhat—but I still understand, and to an extent sympathize with, my earlier point.

A feature piece, I could always understand: Here is the story of this or that musician. He was born in this country, he attended that conservatory, he is rumored to have had amorous relations with the following colleagues: . . . I could also understand a musicological essay: something on the development of the trombone, say, or the disappearance of the contralto, or the career of the twelve-tone system. But concert reviews?

One answer, I suppose—a short one—is that certain people like to read them. And certain others like to write them. Do you know the old definition of a critic? Someone who finds it impossible to read something—or see something or hear something—without a pen in hand. Well, I confess it has been many, many years since I attended a concert or opera without a pen in hand.

Music critics sometimes complain about how hard their subject is to write about, and they are right: It can be murder. Music is an aural art, and must be understood aurally—and spiritually, in a way. If we could talk about it satisfactorily, we would talk, not compose, or play, or listen. Debussy once said, “Music picks up where human speech leaves off; it expresses the otherwise inexpressible.” A few years ago, the critic Bernard Holland wrote, “I am powerless to describe what music is; I can only describe the aftershocks it leaves.” I feel much the same way: A strong dose of humility, I think, is requisite in a music critic.

But hang on: I now wish to contradict myself, baldly—or to supplement my statement, or to provide a counter-rule: A strong dose of arrogance, too, is required in a critic. That is, in fact, what I think gets a lot of us through, what enables us to write the criticism we do, and copiously: the belief—the firm conviction—that we are right, and that others, if they disagree with us, are wrong. Isn’t that disgusting? But it’s most helpful, even necessary. My action as a music critic is predicated on the abhorrent notion that I know better than the next guy—or at least that I have something valuable to say. Frankly, that’s the only way I know to manage it. That’s the only way I can say what I do, in public, and thereby subject what I write to the scrutiny and criticism of millions (or of thousands, or of hundreds). (Or of dozens, as the case may be.)

I’m afraid that my view of criticism is somewhat peculiar and personal, which is why I’m obliged to use “I” and “me” and related words so much before you. I hope you will forgive me. It’s not so much arrogance or egocentrism as a form, believe it or not, of modesty: for I don’t wish to over-generalize or to pretend to speak for my fraternity, much less for all mankind.

What I try to do, in my criticism, is defend the musical principles I was reared on, and that I think should be upheld; I try to speak for music, as music’s advocate, against its defilers; I try to hold performers—and, to a lesser extent, composers (which is to say, present-day composers)—to account; I try to teach something along the way; I perform the simple act of reporting the event; and I try to give people something interesting—or beautiful, or stimulating, or memorable—to read.

Let’s not forget that: Music criticism, in addition to the myriad other things it is, is writing, a form of writing. I wouldn’t blame you if you expected a music critic to be a writer first, and a critic second. If V. S. Naipaul wrote music criticism, I would read it, for the excellence of the prose, no matter what I thought of his musical judgments.

I was talking about musical principles, and my defense of them: What are they? Well, one of them is fidelity to the score—serving the composer’s interests, as against those of self. You might say I am a bit of a conservative, musically—although I caution against applying political or even philosophical terms to this field. You might say—and here I’ll go against my own caution—that I’m a strict constructionist, in music as well as in law: I favor the letter—and the spirit, of course, and here is where it gets tricky—of the law, or the score. Neither a score nor a constitution is an empty vessel into which the William Brennans and Leonard Bernsteins of the world should pour all their feelings and desires and biases and tics.

But then, there are a million exceptions, and I find myself getting less strict, musically, as I go along. An overly subjective performer who is talented can be more satisfying, more defensible, than a strict constructionist who is less talented, or who clings stupidly to the letter. We don’t rule Horowitz out—although I happen to think Horowitz was best when he bothered to discipline himself. I also cherish Celibidache, for all his idiosyncrasy—even because of it. He almost always convinces me. As I say, it gets tricky, and my rules are less rigid than I sometimes state them. But then, if we don’t state things confidently and clearly, we get sucked into a world of hedges—and begin too many sentences with, “But then . . . ”

Here is something that drives me a bit crazy: when a performer says, “Oh, I’m doing this in order to be creative. This allows me to express myself.” We all know singers, violinists, and others who talk this way. I always want to pipe up, Oh, yeah? You want to be creative? You want to express yourself? Fine: Get yourself some manuscript paper and compose something. Then you’ll really be expressing yourself. But you aren’t the creator here, you’re the servant of the creator, the composer of the music. Mr. Handel has expressed himself already, or Mr. Schumann, or Mr. Prokofiev, or whoever. Your job is to bring it out, to be faithful to him—and you do this through . . . through what? Through study, musical sense, and a kind of communion. There is no other way. And some—in fact, most—simply don’t have it. Musicality is both the most important quality in a musician, and the one hardest to define, neatly.

I believe, by the way, that there is such a thing as performing genius, which is distinct from—and, naturally, lesser than—creative genius. Artur Rubinstein, for one, had a performing genius, and so did Leontyne Price. You could throw any score in front of them, and they got—simply got—its essence. Not only did they themselves get it, they could show it to you.

I am always calling for honesty in music-making—my best models are big on this: honesty. You can tell—or rather, to be immodest about it, some of us can tell—when a musician is being honest, and when he isn’t. A musical honesty is linked to a proper conception of the performer’s role, and the performer’s relationship to the composer.

There is a story I love about the conductor George Szell, who is an exemplar of what I sanctimoniously have called my musical principles: He was rehearsing a Mozart symphony, with his usual intensity and dedication. Afterward, someone approached him and said, “Maestro, how can you conduct that way in an empty auditorium?” Szell answered, “Ah, but Mozart is listening.” Szell clearly cared more about Mozart than about the applauding masses. All the best do. And they play and think as seriously and joyfully in the privacy of their own practice rooms as they do in the fullest and grandest concert halls.

A few seasons ago, I wrote very, very harshly about a popular young pianist. I intend to quote what I said, but before I do, I must tell you about a hurdle I had to get over before I could write true criticism. I had to get over an inhibition against slamming, against rebuking, against assessing a performance bluntly—even mordantly. After all, doesn’t the performer have feelings? And doesn’t he have a mother, who has even greater feelings?

I got over it this way: These people—these performers—are enormously lucky to have lives in music. They are privileged beyond belief. And if they are going to concertize, they had better do it well, and serve music. They are not only pleasing themselves, or fans; they are undertaking to present music to the broad world. And this is a grave responsibility, no matter how much fun it is. Part of my job, as I have said, is to hold musicians to account. If the critic has any role at all, it is that of defender of music—but then, the best performers are the ultimate defenders of music.

There is a phrase from the columnist William Safire that I love, and that I try to apply to my journalism across the board: “Kick ’em when they’re up.” Well, musicians are practically always up. If only by virtue of their appearances in the toniest concert halls, they are up. If only by virtue of their fees and adulation, they are up. That’s what frees me to say that so-and-so is impossibly vulgar and absurd and anti-musical, when the musician in question is, in fact, being vulgar and absurd and anti-musical. Not only is he up—but, in all likelihood, he should know better. So I don’t mind kicking such people (though I don’t relish it, either, and never seek to do it).

Now to the popular young pianist I mentioned earlier. I won’t name him—there are many candidates—not because I wish to be coy, but because the point to be illustrated is far more important than any individual personality:

“In recital at Carnegie Hall Friday night was [so-and-so]. He began with the D-major sonata of Beethoven known as the ‘Pastoral,’ one of the smallish glories of the piano literature. As he played, the notes seemed familiar; they were in the right order; but it wasn’t Beethoven; it seemed to be Beethoven as re-imagined, or re-composed, by this presumptuous upstart. The pianist’s interpretation was beyond the individualistic or idiosyncratic; it was vulgar, musically impermissible. The phrasing was foreign. Wrong accents abounded. Notes were crudely clipped. There was staccato where there should have been legato—that sort of thing. Absurdly, he conducted (or did something) with his hands, fluttering about, rather like David Copperfield in a Vegas lounge. Some teacher should have slapped him long ago. Now, I (almost) never mention any physical aspect of a performance, music being a strictly aural art. But I mention the conducting bit because it is revealing of a mindset—one destructive of a score, and of a composer.”

“I left after the Beethoven. When a pianist announces himself like that, you don’t have to stay for more. A guy has a purple mohawk and a nose-ring: Do we need to check for tattoos? And here’s the real pity about [so-and-so]: He’s such a good pianist. Full of talent. If only he had his head screwed on right.”

I kicked him hard, yes: but I also flatter myself into thinking that I stuck up for music, however obliquely. Honest musicality contains no artifice or chicanery or misplaced ego. What a pianist wants to do with his own music is his own business; what he does with Beethoven’s is something else.

Here is another role of the critic: to boost, to plump, to champion—to wave the flag for a musician, or for some musical cause. There is a long tradition of this among music critics, and I regret that this tradition has faded somewhat in recent years. I think of Hanslick and his man Brahms, and of Korngold and his man Mahler. I think, too, of the grand old war between B. H. Haggin, the acid critic of The Nation magazine, and Irving Kolodin, the curmudgeonly critic of the New York Times. Haggin loved Toscanini, and Kolodin loved Furtwängler—and they fought bitterly. What fun!

I myself tend to plead the case of James Levine, who, many years ago, was protégé to George Szell in Cleveland. He has a lot in common with that old maestro, sharing, for example, the same insistent dedication to music. I often say that Levine is not only formidable in his own era, but a conductor to be assessed in historic terms. Of course, even Homer nods, and Levine did a worrying amount of nodding last season. But, many, many nights, I leave the concert hall or, more likely, the opera house truly grateful for what I have heard. A pet beef of mine is that we underappreciate the living. We are afraid to render a strong judgment. Immobilized by caution, and fear of embarrassment, we tend to wait until a performer is retired or dead—and that’s no good.

In fact, one of the things I do, as a critic—perhaps ad nauseam—is point out that, in certain respects, we are living in a golden age. We have a plethora of performers who will be judged—should be judged—as historic. When a living performer—even a quite young one—is great, we ought to say so. This might be taken as a critical duty. I happen to think that Hilary Hahn, all of 23 years old, is a great violinist: not a promising one, not a lavishly talented one, not an unusually mature one, not a phenom—but a great violinist, here and now. The last recital I heard of hers left no doubt. I believe the same can be safely said of Maxim Vengerov—although he is practically a senior citizen compared with Hahn.

And how about singers? Here, I believe we are unquestionably in the midst of a golden age, even though it won’t be recognized as such until it is good and past. There is no need to sit in our rooms with our record collections. Fans are often full of nostalgia, wishing they could go back to . . . whatever year they imagine to be optimal. But how about 2003? What George Jellinek calls “the vocal scene” offers you Deborah Voigt, and Susan Graham, and Renée Fleming, and Christine Schaefer, and René Pape, and Thomas Quasthoff, and Matthias Goerne, and Thomas Hampson, and Dmitri Hvorostovsky, and Magdalena Kožená, and Susanne Mentzer, and Ewa Podles, and Natalie Dessay, and Barbara Bonney, and Olga Borodina, and many, many others who are not only worthwhile but virtually immortal (thanks to CDs). I once titled a piece on Borodina “Greatness, Here and Now”—that’s pretty straightforward. No, I don’t think I’d trade places with anyone, in an earlier era, at least as far as singers are concerned. Conductors and pianists and composers—they’re another story.

Not only critics, but editors, now and then, are wary of praise—especially of the exuberant kind. It is hard to be censured for being strongly negative—that is often taken as a sign of sophistication and guts. It is easier to be censured for being strongly positive—that is often taken as a sign of naïveté or ignorance. What will almost never get you censured, of course, is the moderate, hedged review: a bloodless thing, saying nothing, venturing nothing, worth nothing. Then again, sometimes a performance is neither here nor there—acceptable, but nothing special. Frequently I have written that an evening “suffered from the quality of okayness.”

As I have said, I try to make it my practice to write what I believe is true, and I’m lucky to work for publications that afford me this privilege. Furthermore, I find that if I think, while writing, “I’m now praising,” or, “I’m now damning,” I can’t go on: My hand is stayed. My best shot is to react candidly; how it comes out on the page is its own business.

And I try to make myself write quickly after a performance, before I get cold feet. Truth is—tough as I talk—I often temper myself when I sit down at the keyboard: I mute the positive a bit, cushion the negative a bit. I don’t say this with pride—it’s the natural human adjusting.

I might also say that we must not fear to repeat ourselves in this business. (Maybe I should say it twice!) Repetition is one of the joys of it, and necessary to unfold a worldview, or musical credo. I am always saying what I say about Levine, while further noting that I’m always saying it. And I have often wondered the following: What if I were stuck in a city doing music criticism for a daily newspaper and found the conductor of that city’s orchestra a lousy one? Would I simply say it, 30 times a year? Avoid it? Concentrate chiefly on the music performed, rather than the conducting of it?

I don’t know. I just thought I’d bring it up, for you to ponder.

So far, I have spoken almost exclusively about one kind of criticism, that of musical performance. There is a great difference between writing about performance and writing about composition. The latter is more demanding. I will confide to you that I have a hard time listening to both at the same time—to both the performance and the music. I would rather listen to the performance and judge it, or listen to the music and judge it—but not both, simultaneously.

Most nights of the year, we engage in performance criticism; but we are, naturally, called on to write about new music. This requires a whole other set of faculties. It is a delicate business, too. Composers depend, to a certain degree, on the response of critics for their advancement. And a critic can court trouble by writing negatively about new music, which many feel must be protected, and nurtured, and pampered, like a newborn babe. Some regard an attack on new music—or even skepticism about it—as all but impermissible, something on the order of infanticide. (Of course, if the music is what is labeled “conservative” or “traditional” or, heaven forbid, “neo-Romantic,” all bets are off.) There is rarely a penalty to be paid for cheering new music; there are serious penalties to be paid for opposing it.

I don’t make it a habit to engage in new-music debates, but one thing I have said loudly is that I don’t believe music should be performed merely because it is new, or American, or written by a woman, or written by a member of an interesting ethnic or racial group. Music should rise or fall on its merits.

In writing for the general public, a critic is often faced with the question: How technical should I get? How general should I keep it? Through trial and error, I have concluded that I am best off relying on the intelligence of the reader, and his ability to discern things through context. I don’t go out of my way to use technical terms, but neither do I go out of my way to avoid them, as much as I used to. For example, I don’t necessarily pause to explain what “rubato” is. Usually, I just trust: and it seems to work out. Remember that music criticism is a minority taste, anyway.

I tell you something else I have sneaked into my music criticism: those awful words “I,” “me,” and so on, which I have used so flagrantly today. For years, I religiously eschewed these words, thinking that they were arrogant, self-regarding, pompous—that they inserted oneself inappropriately into the piece. I found the use of such words egotistical.

In truth, it is exactly the opposite: What is egotistical—what is truly arrogant—is to shun “I” and “me” in favor of an objective voice that makes you look like pure, unquestionable truth—the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. These days, I will slip in the first person when I want to suggest some modesty—when I have a bit of doubt, or reluctance. It is a way of saying, Look: This doesn’t come down from Mt. Sinai; it is my opinion. (Then again, I may want my opinion to seem as though it has been chiseled on sacred tablets.) The use of personal pronouns, in music criticism and other forms of criticism, is an act of modesty. I hold to this.

Sometimes I’m asked whether I applaud. You bet I do. I know critics who don’t, as a matter of principle, and that is a principle I find difficult to comprehend. I applaud even bad performances, out of politeness. And I applaud heartily for performances that deserve it. When people think of critics, they often think of people who are extra-negative about things; people who like things less than the general public does; people who are pickier, because more knowledgeable. This may be. But it can also be that good music critics, or musicians, like things more than the general public does. The point is, they should have greater powers of appreciation, one way or the other. Audiences can roar wrongly for a performance; they can also withhold roars wrongly. A tepid response can be just as uncalled for—just as unknowing—as a wild ovation.

I could recite countless instances of my disliking a performance that others were mad for. But I have also been the only person in a very large hall on his feet for something. I stood for Han-Na Chang, a cellist then 14 or 15 years old, in Avery Fisher Hall, after she played the Saint-Saëns A-minor concerto. I felt I had to. There have been many times when I have not stood—for reasons of self-consciousness—and been ashamed of myself.

I mention all this, not to trumpet my powers of discernment, but to stress that one of the things a critic can usefully do is invite enthusiasm for that which has been inadequately received. This is a companion to knocking down things—performers, music, trends—that are celebrated unwisely.

Ladies and gentlemen, in thinking about this subject, and preparing this talk, I’ve had a good deal of fun—which brings me to my final point: Let’s not rule out fun as a reason for music criticism, or a justification of it. I recall a superb professor of history I had, Shaw Livermore Jr., who began one course roughly this way:

“We’re often told that we study history because it’s necessary—necessary to avoid the mistakes of the past. The past, we’re assured, can shed light on the present. Actually, it’s equally true that the present can shed light on the past—but be that as it may.

“The truth is—and we have to say this softly—we study history because it’s fun. Because we enjoy it. Because we get a kick out of it. And that’s okay.”

Yes, it is okay.

I am delighted that we have arranged this forum; I believe occasions like this have value. But it’s much better to listen to music than to talk about it, or to hear someone else talk about it. I’ve cracked that the most dread hyphenated word in the English language is “concert-lecture.”

People sometimes ask me, “What should I read, to learn more about music?” I usually tell them, “Oh, if you have the time, don’t read anything: Listen to something. Words, in the end, can do so little. That’s the point of music.” Critics have a role to play—I wouldn’t suggest otherwise. They have a role to play in explicating, in promoting, in teaching, in making mischief. But the keys to the kingdom of music must be gained by joining with music, by entering that separate world of sound, of musical thought, where words have little place.

For someone who purports to disdain talk about music, I can go on, can’t I? But now you will be treated to something truly musical: the voice, thought, and style of William F. Buckley Jr.

Thank you.

As long as there has been Artists there have been Critics. But there are other players besides these two players. In addition to Artists and Critics, there are Consumers and Reviewers that appreciate the Art. Each contributes to a delicate ecology.

Artists are driven by the need to create Art. At times, Artists will seek feedback on what they create and sometimes that seeking will lead them to simply become Performers. As Performers they derive their feedback in the form of money, ticket sales, fame, etc. For a Performer the Art becomes a means to Performance and at the highest levels, the Performance becomes the Art itself (Cirque du Soleil is prime example of this).

Performers and Consumers have thus created a balanced ecology. If the Performers give they Consumers what they want (a good performance or Entertainment), the Consumers will give the Performers what they want (money, accolades). The Art itself becomes a product that is essentially traded at concerts, stores, galleries, etc.

This is how most of the modern entertainment industry works – everything from books, music, movies, theater, television, and video games are governed by this ecology.

Now this system is working well. The problem is that there is such an abundance of entertainment, it becomes difficult for people to decide what they will do next and where to spend their dollars and time. This is where the role of Reviewers and Critics come in.

Reviewers are Consumers like me. I am sharing my personal opinion on what I read, listen to, etc. If you like what I recommend, you will come back and ask for more. You may also share with me stuff you think I may like. It is pretty egalitarian since everyone has an opinion. And it is also pretty meritocratic, each of us are rewarded with people saying they like the same things which is a form of validation.

Critics see themselves as filling the niche by keeping the Artist honest since they see most feedback as vapid or blind. In contrast, Reviewers see themselves are sharing their opinions about they like and do not like. Both are based on personal opinion, but the Critic sees himself as defending the Art, much like a Park Ranger is responsible for animals on a wildlife reserve. There is a self-perceived higher purpose to the Critic.

Defending Art is the purpose of the Critic. That is why they are so down on the Entertainment industry. They see Art as being devolved into its baser aspects, sort of like seeing a majestic animal being caged and put in a circus. They also see themselves as defending the species by keeping it pure – We don’t want any mongrels here!

Critics see Art as representing special insight into the human spirit. It is Art is what makes humans a unique species. Art is communication on a deeper level. Art is about controversy and making us uncomfortable in contrast to Entertainment which is about providing fun and good times. So for a Critic, Art at its best is about touching something deeper and controversy is a symptom of this.

When the Artist keeps recycling old ideas and does not grow in terms of artistic range, then they simply become Performers and the Art then becomes Entertainment. The Critics will criticize the Artist for this lack of bravery and the Reviewers will simply share their opinions, but the Fans will be spitting fury at the Critics.

And it is at this point that Critics are irrelevant. The Fan and the Critic are at two different perspectives, both valid. The Critic should not be criticizing an Artist turned Performer for doing what they do. The idealism of the Critic puts him out of touch with the pragmatism of Fans and Performers.

After all, the purpose of Entertainment is to entertain. Sharing an angst-ridden message of revelation is meaningless to somebody who is looking for a good time. That is why more obscure Artists will never find a larger following and why most Performers will never receive the positive opinion of Critics. They are talking different languages and belong in different ecological niches.

Like any healthy ecology, there needs to be respect and tolerance of each other’s roles. Giving too much control to one will destroy the ecological balance that makes up Art.

I challenged him to define what talent is. Is it the ability to play the same music as well as Tinsley? Is it the ability to write your own music? Is it something else like fame? His ill-defined notion of talent is just a sneaky way of pretending that one particular artist is better than another.

If talent means playing a blues song as well as Tinsley, then I am convinced that most reasonably capable musicians would be able to play something just as well as him. It would take time, some more than others to learn the piece, but they would all be be able to play what he plays. The technical brilliance of a musician is something that can be learned and talent in this area is characterized by being exceptionally quick at learning.

If talent means writing and playing original material, then that is the talent of a songwriter, not just of a musician. We need to compare apples to apples to be fair. Some musicians just love to perform but do not want to write their own music. Writing music takes lots of effort and is taking a huge risk. I think that for most musicians, it is not worth it. Tinsley is a talented musician and songwriter, but that does not stop Deano and the Funky Bunnies from being talented musicians.

So is talent based on popularity and fame? No. I can think of hundreds of artists creating excellent music that barely registers with the larger populace. Case in point: CD Baby is a site where you can find artists who put out Radio quality music but are mostly unknown. The difference between a band like OttO Vector and The Killers is not talent, but opportunity and being in the right place at the right time. I love both bands, but cannot say that The Killers are a better band because they have sold more albums while OttO Vector has not. Popularity does not make for talent endowment.

Talent is one of those concepts that is thrown around too loosely. Tinsley Ellis and his opening act can both be talented but for different reasons. What most people are guilty of is assuming that fame equals talent. To me that is as foolish as using a thermostat to tell time.