Let’s talk about the guitar, shall we? The guitar hasn’t been a musical instrument since 1979; it’s been a tool to allow douche bags to get laid. When you get right down to it, the guitar (along with, perhaps, the hand rolled cigarette) is the perfect symbol for hipster narcissism. We’re all so unique, don’t you see? Everyone deserves to have the musical interpretation of their smugness injected into the ether because god knows we need more songs about girlfriends named Emma or Piper or Delilah. Thank Christ for the goddamn internet!
But the point, if you’ll forgive that digression, is that the guitar no longer means anything because everyone does it. It would be kinda like if everyone on earth believed in their heart of hearts that they were to most skilled kick boxer and that both their kicking and boxing skills should be admired above all others. As a result, Jean-Claude Van Damme fades into obscurity, spending the remainder of his days polishing off bottles of Godiva white chocolate liqueur, weeping, and shouting racial slurs at pigeons. Actually, no, it’s EXACTLY like that. I defy you to come up with a superior analogy.
Anyway, Robbie Robertson has a new album out called How To Become Clairvoyant. Robertson is a musical legend, but I had never heard of him so I did a little research. Apparently, something, something, Eric Clapton and then I got bored. The point is that he’s been a-rockin’ for a long time. The man is 67 years old and still rocks like a guy with a wizard painted on the side of his van. Here’s how you know the difference between someone who wants to play the guitar out of love of music and those use it as more of a dumb artsy chick attracting device: if their still playing when their 67! Also, he’s Canadian, so that automatically makes him a better person.
But sadly, it’s not all maple syrup and Kids in the Halls for Robertson on this album. Many of the songs are downright dull. The track “Madam X,” for example, a track to which the aforementioned Eric Clapton added his Claptonian talents to, is essentially indistinguishable from any of the thousand other mid 70’s long hair and porn star mustache bands. You know those songs on the classic rock radio station that sound pretty good on your commute, but you have no intention or desire to see if you can ever find that song again? That’s every song on this album. The songs are not bad, and Robertson’s musical prowess is impressive, they’re just about 30 years too late to be innovative or interesting.
Conclusion: If you must have a full music collection, please feel free to buy this album. If not, it’s much cheaper to simply turn on the radio, drive around, and pretend you’re an extra from Dazed and Confused.
You don’t need to have heard of something to assess it musically. Personally I’m well aware of who Robbie Robertson is, and the high points of his songwriting career are some of the musical milestones in my life, as well as important moments in the history of rock. But I’ve heard Robertson gigging his current material, and the reviewer, who I commend for using his ears rather than historical research, correctly identifies it as being dull-as-ditchwater, middle of the road rock, with nothing to distinguish it from something else you’ve already heard. What a historical perspective would have enabled him to conclude, is that it’s a fucking tragedy, because Robertson used to write pure poetry.
Dear Mr. Robertson,
You’re 67 years old. You don’t get to wear hoodies anymore.
Thanks for wasting 2 minutes of my day. You actually admit you have no clue what the fuck you’re talking about, and that you couldn’t be bothered to find out, either. Go flip burgers, shithead.
Who the fuck is Dan Howard? Well he’s never heard of Robbie Robertson…….then he’s probably some snot nosed little shit who doesn’t know his aass from that hole in his head, just as he is displaying here.
Don’t bother to write critics about something you don’t know fuck all about. Stick to Martha Stewart, or some hip hop band or something.
All you’ve accommplished, is to show that you are a real ignorant little ass hole who knows nothing about this music.
Yeah, anyone who doesn’t like what I like is a terrible person.
I too write the “critics” when I mean “critiques”. We should hang out sometime and write (or should I say “right”) comments on websites that no one reads.