Album Review Quotes

Making judgments on films is in many ways so peculiarly vaporous an occupation that the only question is why, beyond the obvious opportunities for a few lectures fees and a little careerism at a dispiritingly self-limiting level, anyone does it in the first place.

The weird part is not that I collected scratch and sniff stickers until I was a teenager. The weird part is, I still have that sticker album and the stickers when scratched still erupt with scent.

immersed himself in a review of Sufjan Stevens’s latest album

I'm excited because Deanna and I are on our way toward our stated objective of becoming scholars of the early Pink Floyd. I feel that we have a fairly good grasp of the all of the music, including the singles, through the first two albums, Piper at the Gates of Dawn and A Saucerful of Secrets, and we've done some of the groundwork on More, Ummagumma, Zabriskie Point and Atom Heart Mother, although all of those need more review. Anyway, #feelingchuffed ~ Sienna

Three of the album’s reviews stood out. Gleason noted correctly that it wasn’t as good as the band live, as did the magazine Crawdaddy!, where Paul Williams said that “only ‘Viola Lee’ has any of the fantastic ‘this is happening now!’ quality of a good Dead performance.” In the Village Voice, Richard Goldstein was balanced and reasonable: “Straight, decent rhythm and blues . . . feels spontaneous; it sounds honest . . . leaderless cooperation you seldom find in rock and roll.

Ever since the 1960s, upon the urging of Dr. T. Berry Brazelton and the all-knowing Dr. Spock,* mothers have been encouraged to read to their children at a very early age. For toddlers and preschoolers who relish this early diet of literacy, libraries become a second home, story hour is never long enough, and parents can’t finish a book without hearing a little voice beg, “Again… again.” For most literary geek girls, it’s at this age that they discover their passion for reading. Whether it’s Harold and the Purple Crayon or Strega Nona, books provide the budding literary she-geek with a glimpse into an all-new world of magic and make-believe—and once she visits, she immediately wants to apply for full-time citizenship. “We tell ourselves stories in order to live.” —author Joan Didion, in The White Album While some children spend their summers sweating on community sports teams or learning Indigo Girls songs at sleep-away camp, our beloved bookworms are more interested in joining their local library’s summer reading program, completing twenty-five books during vacation, and earning a certificate of recognition signed by their city’s mayor. (Plus, that Sony Bloggie Touch the library is giving away to the person who logs the most hours reading isn’t the worst incentive, either. It’ll come in handy for that book review YouTube channel she’s been thinking about starting!) When school starts back up again, her friends will inevitably show off their tan lines and pony bead friendship bracelets, and our geek girl will politely oblige by oohing and aahing accordingly. But secretly she’s bursting with pride over her summer’s battle scars—the numerous paper cuts she got while feverishly turning the pages of all seven Harry Potter books.

I wound up writing a review that asserted her greatness but also said that this was not her career album, and that she could and would do even better than this. I was in Atlanta, late at night, leaving a piano bar (don't ask), when my cell phone rang and I distractedly picked it up. 'Hello?' 'Peter Cooper?' The words came out as one: 'Petercooper?' 'Yes.' 'You better get your ass over here right now.' 'Who is this?' 'Petercooper, it's Leeannwomack. Where the hell are you?' 'I'm in Atlanta?' 'Why?' That one was hard to answer. I paused to ponder. 'Doesn't matter. Get your sorry ass over here right now.' 'I can't. I'm in Atlanta.' 'Well, get in your car and drive to Nashville. 'Cause I'm gonna give you three swift kicks to the groin.

There was a lot of downtime sitting by Mike, so I read. I had a little table on which I had my pile of books and, by the end, they were nearly as high as the studio ceiling. I used to get all the song titles from them. Even the album titles, as it turned out, because ‘A startling tale of power, corruption and lies’ was a review quote from the Daily Telegraph on the back of 1984 by George Orwell. ‘Leave Me Alone’ came from Tender Is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald, and ‘Ultraviolence’ was from A Clockwork Orange, to name but a few.

I don’t have an MO on my album. I literally just put down what I’m feeling at the time, and if it all comes together as ‘Fuck the alt-right,’ or ‘Word on the street you’re a Libtard,’ that’s cool. These are issues that I’m feeling and talking about now. But I was also talking about them when no one was looking, no one cared, no one was reviewing my songs. I’ve been talking about this shit since my first album, when I was 18. This is just what I care about and how I operate. So, if people want to put that on me, I don’t mind. But I don’t feel like I have a responsibility or owe anyone anything. If people see me as some flag bearer for ‘Fuck the alt-right,’ that’s fine, but people need to accept that I’m just being myself—I’m not trying to get likes or go viral. I’m just saying what I mean. I just hope that I don’t get pigeonholed like, ‘We want you to do this and nothing else.

The White Album was released in November 1968 to mixed reviews. Some people consider it their favorite Beatles album. Personally, I think it’s their least inspired effort, and I find it difficult to listen to. Of course, that may have a lot to do with my knowing the circumstances behind it. Unless you have nurtured an album, crafted it, lived with it every day, it’s just a piece of plastic with some songs on it. But if you’re aware of people’s talents and you see them just crumble and destroy themselves, it’s tough to deal with. I

I was reviews editor, which I was hopeless at seeing as it required organisation, decisions, delegation and ability to decipher which singles, albums, films, videos, concerts, books and competitions were best suited to the viewers from an actual Alpine avalanche of Jiffy bags permanently engulfing the reviews desk. This was music industry boom time,

Movement came out while we were away. The reviews were OK, and though I grew to like it more and more as the years went by, we weren’t especially happy with it at the time. When we listened to the finished product what we heard was the sound of a band whose producer had lost faith. You could hear it. The album had ended up sounding like a Joy Division album with New Order vocals.

I tend to go see whatever film has been most obnoxiously hyped, marketed, and oversold in any given week…art films? Bah! Won’t find too many of those discussed here. And every once in a while, I may review a TV show, theatrical production, record album, concert, or book (yeah, probably not too many of those either).