I'm wondering about my innate levels of grumpiness.
I made a moderate amount of dough in the Eighties writing reviews and critical pieces -- but I never felt entirely comfortable commiting my opinions to print where the musicians in question could read the judgements and actually have crummy feelings about them.
As an inconsistent singer/songwriter who worked in low-rent bars in the Seventies, I knew how performers and artists felt getting bad reviews.
The review I remember most vividly came in Houston, Texas, at a singles bar. I was in an inspiringly mediocre band based in a small Midwestern town. We got this Houston gig on exceedingly short notice and drove forty-eight hours straight to arrive there more or less on time. The guys' faces needed shaving and my dress needed ironing. We all looked drugged by the exhaustion.
"Hi," I hollered to the crowd while the men hustled around the small stage, plugging in amps and checking connections. "We're Music Kicks, and we came here all the way from Iowa."
The drawl curled up slow, low, Southern and loud. "You shoulda stayed there."
We all spent most of the week catching bronchitis from each other thanks in part to frigid air conditioning.
Ten years after I wrote a review of a Hall and Oates album for a national publication, Daryl Hall interrupted a friendly, long chat to tell me how much I hurt his girlfriend when I called the lyrics to "Maneater" sexist.
I felt pained that Sarah had taken it so hard, even while she made a king's ransom in royalties from the tune. "It's a good source of income, so why does she care what I said? I've never been a big-deal critic or anything."
"But you're a woman," he replied, still looking distressed. "She thought you'd understand. You sound intelligent when you write -- she knew you were one of the sharp ones. Money doesn't stop anyone from wantiing support and applause." He laughed, apparently relieved that at least I responded with concern."The ones who say they don't care are liars."
I've always preferred writing musicians' profiles anyway.
Still, the inner Miss Opinions takes the reviewer jobs when they're there.
I try to write smart, write fair, write funny, and stick in a little snark to pay homage to some of my favorite critics.
There, now, I've revealed myself to be A Wimpy Critic. Do I have to get grumpy to be interesting for even myself to read?
Sarah would say no, I bet. She'd tell me to fake the snark, feign the grump and without getting corny, write from the heart.
I could do that, Sarah. I hope.
