Pitchfork

[In a faux British accent:] Cheers. This is Reginald B. Brichton, Esquire calling for a Mr. Ian McKaye.

This is he.

Mr. McKaye, I represent the British band Embrace. I understand that you fronted a mid- eighties new-wave punk band with the same name. I would like to inform you that our band is issuing a cease and desist.

Hey, Brent.

Damn! How'd know it was me? Is my accent slipping?

It's a bit too chimney- sweeper for a lawyer. By the way, thanks for the positive Fugazi review.

No problem. I wouldn't have written, though, if I didn't mean every word.

Although what was up with the Diane Sawyer stuff? Why do you insist on spewing trite fiction? Just talk about the music.

Babe, this is showbiz. But funny you should mention the reviews. That's why I'm calling.

What's the problem?

Well, I'm giving it up.

What?! Why? People love your reviews. I print them out and paste them on the inside of our tourbus.

That's awfully nice of you. I appreciate all the pats on the back. But the whole concept of the music review seems pointless. The readers only really check the numerical rating. The only people who really read the reviews all the way through are the fans of the band you're reviewing, and what's the point of that? They're going to buy the CD anyway and just send you hate mail about how stupid your opinion is. Honestly, I think I've heard it all by now. How many times can D, A, and G be used to make fresh songs? It's all just sounds. It all just triggers some sort of emotional response in people. How can a loser on a computer quantitatively measure that?

So why are you calling me to tell me all this?

Well, I don't want to let Pitchfork down. I'm calling all my famous friends and asking them to review the music for me. In my name. I've been talking to the famous authors I've met at conventions and in airports. I think they can do a better job. And I want you to be the first. You're a respected indie- rock icon. Plus, I thought it'd be clever for you to review Embrace, seeing how you were in a band called Embrace.

What are you going to do?

Just drop off. Live a little. The internet is a fascinating phenomenon. J.D. Salinger had to mole away in Montana as a hermit to escape the entertainment world. Me? I just have to not log on. I have to actually just live in the real world to be a recluse.

Do what you got to do. I'll be happy to review that Embrace. I've got it right here. It's no problem.

You have it? Why? I wouldn't think you'd be into the whole Brit-pop movement.

Well, major labels are still trying to get us to sign after 10 years of "No." So they send me all their releases to try and bribe me. Sort of has the adverse effect.

So what did you think of the Embrace CD? You should sue them so they have to call themselves The Embrace UK or the London Embrace.

Really. Like how Bush is "Bush X" in Canada. Anyway, I thought the Embrace CD was standard anthemic Brit-pop.

How so? This is criticism. Be specific.

Well, if the band Embrace was a Batman villian, it'd be Two-Face. Liam Gallagher on the left, Richard Ashcroft on the right. Their tunes come like digital code. Alternating between 1 and 0. 1 being the Verve and 0 being Oasis. For example, on "I Want the World," Danny McNamara's vocal chords sound like something's stuck up in his sinus cavity. Tres Liam. Then on the next track, he's crooning passionately like Ashcroft. I'm not saying he's intentionally copying these people, but since he's coming after them, he has to be suspect.

I didn't mind them that much. Urban Hymns moved me. The Good Will Out comes across like an album load of "The Drugs Don't Work." Well, except that the lyrics don't tickle and pet your soul as much. Embrace should satiate the late- coming fans of the Verve. However, Embrace lacks the ethereal, floating atmosphere of the Verve.

This album sounded like a Verve ballad cover band with tacked together with some songs that didn't quite make the cut of Be Here Now. There's a bit of bollacks- grabbing bravada on here. Something for the blokes in the Docklands to raise a pint to.

It's funny, I couldn't get that into this album because I was constantly saying, "Oh, this sounds like 'Sonnet.' Oh, this sounds like 'Cigarettes and Alcohol.'" But in forty years' time, any proximal "post- Verve" or "post- Oasis" temporal relationship will most likely have been forgotten. A kid could listen to this without hearing its parental albums and think it's quite rocking. Now, I'm getting back to my point on the futility of criticism.

Go chomp some St. John's Wort. Besides, this album still isn't technically "great." It has some pleasant moments. It goes through the motions. It's like a Monday night sitcom. A Saturday night action drama. It's there if you're into that sort of thing.

Well, Ian, thanks for doing the review for me. I have to get going. I have plans. I have to call Vonnegut, Clancy, Welsh, Burgess, Crichton, Cornwell, Morrison, Ford, Easton Ellis, etc. I need to sort this out. It's been real... nice. I'll miss the industry.

Goodbye.

Don't cry. I hear you crying, Ian. This is all for the best.

(To be continued...)