#23. WHERE ARE THE MUSIC REVIEWS?

In lieu of another bored take on Burna Boy's Big 7 LP.

Stumbling on old copies of Source Magazine was a highlight of my grumpy adolescence. To encounter a music review of your favourite record, a dense block of prose comes alive with every sentence, unpacking genius, providing context, and validating my thoughts on those albums. Little wonder, some of my earliest writings were about music. More than a decade has passed, yet I am still in awe of the review as an art form.

A review is, at worst, an expert opinion—at best, it is a work of art in its own right. Good reviews hardly stand alone, but great reviews often do. Great reviews, however, are few and far between, even for great critics (I understand music critics are failed novelists, not musicians); it happens now and then. And when it happens, it is a rare thing of beauty.

Let’s contemplate the mundane ‘competent’ review—a purge of prose with the usual meanderings. Fact slapped upon context and then a smidgen of novel opinion. Smart reviewers are faithful to the text. They are always hi…