I’m reading a couple of books related to progressive rock right now.  They range from the wonderful (Stephen Lambe’s Citizens of Hope and Glory (2013)) to the arrogantly bizarre (Gareth Shute’s Concept Albums (2013)) to just plain and unadulterated absurdity (Paul Hegarty/Martin Halliwell, Beyond and Before (2011)).

I will freely admit that I can be more than a bit fanboyish in my writing.  I know what I like, and I know what makes me happy.  I consciously choose to be as loyal as possible to that which I believe good, true, and beautiful.  Plato once argued that we must love what we love and hate what we hate.  Amen, Greek pagan, amen.

But, I also strive like mad (as do all progarchists) to have the writing style match in excellence the work of the musicians and the lyricists we review.

If the art of the review doesn’t match the art of the album, why bother?  Writing poorly about Big Big Train, The Tangent, or Talk Talk, for example, would not only be tacky, it would be an insult to the art itself.  And, really, what kind of character dwells on the thing she or he hates, that is, as an art (supposedly), unless of course called to be a prophet.  And, there are very few of those.

Additionally, if the art of writing and reviewing does not strive for the highest style, what use is criticism?  What effectiveness of criticism can there be?

Messrs. Shute, Hegarty, and Halliwell, you should keep your cynicism and ignorance to yourself.  Or, if you must be nasty and foolish, at least find a good writer to emulate.

Longer reviews of each book to follow.