Monday, August 30, 2004
James Wolcott critiques the critics who are heavy into the dithery-doo. (Caution: Wear protective goggles when moving closer in to the rest of his acid-churning reaction to a mere book about Bob Dylan):
"The critic who does not make critical distinctions is no longer a critic, he is an enthusiast--hardly the worst thing in the world, since many enthusiasts have their own tough grading systems and sore spots. As any reader of Nick Hornby's novel High Fidelity knows, rock-and-roll record collectors are among the pickiest pedants around. But Ricks is an easy grader, so avidly receptive it's as if he has Mouseketeer ears. This fan doesn't differentiate between minor Dylan and major Dylan, the lightning strokes and the lazy doodles; he flosses himself up to the same level of gleeful appreciation no matter which number he is disassembling."
¶ 8/30/2004 10:01:00 PM
"The critic who does not make critical distinctions is no longer a critic, he is an enthusiast--hardly the worst thing in the world, since many enthusiasts have their own tough grading systems and sore spots. As any reader of Nick Hornby's novel High Fidelity knows, rock-and-roll record collectors are among the pickiest pedants around. But Ricks is an easy grader, so avidly receptive it's as if he has Mouseketeer ears. This fan doesn't differentiate between minor Dylan and major Dylan, the lightning strokes and the lazy doodles; he flosses himself up to the same level of gleeful appreciation no matter which number he is disassembling."
¶ 8/30/2004 10:01:00 PM
