Jersey Beat Music Fanzine
 

“3 Reviews of Goodman's Isn't It Sad,” or


“The Problems of Knowing the Dude You're Reviewing”

by Pete Kilpin

If you're reading this, you already know that Jersey Beat didn't make its name just by covering the shimmering crazes or major label ephemera that have been hurled our way over the last thirty years. Surely, you understand that this opposition to the tendencies of the main stream music press is a cornerstone of its mission statement, and, OF COURSE, you know that Jersey Beat's ability to become embedded into the fabric of movements, subcultures, and scenes is its main source continued vitality. Of course you knew all that. You're reading Jersey Beat.

Having said all that, its also well-known that Jersey Beat operates with a tremendous amount of objectivity and professionalism when it comes to its particular brand of music criticism. However, when writing for a decidedly "front-lines" institution like Jersey Beat (can I just call it 'The Beat' or should I say 'Jersey Beat' every time? I don't know, I'm new here,) the reviewer can often become so entrenched in the scene or in the personal lives of the bands that he or she is reviewing that biased impartiality can inevitably enter into the picture. Many find that this element can bring an enriching and fresh perspective into the art of music criticism, while others can find it irksome and unprofessional. I'm not here to say that I prefer one to the other, or to pledge my allegiance to a single methodology, rather, I'm simply going to take advantage of the fact that I have a choice: If I find myself reviewing a record made by someone I know personally, should I do so with detached professionalism, or should I let my sense of kinship and predilection run wild across the page?

Take my friend and Mama Coco's label-mate Goodman's new record Isn't It Sad. I'd love to review it impartially, but I simply can't. I hang out with him all the time, he drunkenly emcees our band's shows without being asked, I've known the record's producer for years, and my brother just bought a guitar from the guy who mastered it.

On top of all that, last night, I saw Goodman at a party and he told me, "You know, when we were in the studio, if I was ever unsure about something, Oliver [veteran record producer and novice human producer] would say to me, 'Just imagine, like, Peter Kilpin listening to it…' and we'd kinda shape something around that…" Obviously, it doesn't get less impartial than that, as I am, literally and individually speaking, the target audience.

And finally, as though I couldn't illustrate how inseparable this record is to my personal life thoroughly enough, Goodman ruined the premiere of House of Cards for me last week by giving away the ending. But I can't put all of that into a cohesive review. On one hand, I can't fairly review the record because it was literally made for me. On the other hand, I can't fairly review the record because Goodman is also an asshole. So seeing that this record can't be professionally compartmentalized in isolation from my personal life, I'll have to go about it in a different way.

I'll attempt to review it in three distinct and separate manners. The first: an entirely impartial review. The second: an intimate and inevitably biased review that takes our personal relationship into account. The third: a spiteful and emotionally charged review of his record, seen as a worthless product made by someone who ruins the biggest plot twist in the entire series of House of Cards just because he thought it would be soooooo fucking funny to put it on his Facebook.

The Impartial Review:

NY-based-pop-craftsman/solo-singer-songwriter Goodman's sophomore album, Isn't It Sad," begins in the same way that his first one did. Seconds after hitting play, something incredibly familiar oozes out of the speakers: Airy room tones, palm-muted power-chord plucks, and a faint wash of organesque polyphonic reverb. Perhaps it's not as sinister as this, but Goodman seems like an artist who knows a thing or two about branding. He has a reputation for being pretty particular about his guitar sound coming across in a recognizable way, and he doesn't let a lot of his tonal characteristics, vocals, drums, or otherwise, change too drastically from track to track. He wants a Goodman record to sound like a Goodman record.

And just like a Goodman record, it takes a moment before it barrels out of the gate on its title track, utilizing a bouncy rhythm section, and a razor-sharp set of stacked vocals in each refrain. He knows what tools need to be pulled out of the drawer to make a seamless power-pop record. Perhaps he read the comment cards on the first record and returned intent on making minor, but noticeable, changes in his form. His use of melody and language are more engaging and interesting than ever before, just as his vocal technique appears to have advanced ten-fold. Each song structure is perfectly suited to showcase his harmonic dexterity, giving his masterfully controlled squeak ample space to leap from one octave to the next without breaking a sweat.

The record also seems to be an exercise in restraint, perhaps for the good of his persona. The songs never give you what you want right away. They make you wait for the full-energy choruses or raucous verses, and even then, the guitars always stay clean, leaving you aching for a touch of aggression, be it a distortion pedal, a gritty organ part – something. Similarly, the album never gets cluttered. Songs like "Anywhere" take special care to never confuse a melody. You won't likely find any hidden guitar parts on future rotations. Everything that needs to be heard gets heard.

The lyrics are unmistakably pop, and exist within a storied lineage of boy-loves-girl, boy-hates-girl, boy-hates-self, boy-loves-hating self, etc. I mean to say that, on first listen, the lyrics have to come across as clever before they can concede to the painful emotions or ideas that lie beneath them. The resounding sentimental truths in the first verse of "Blue Eyed Girl" are all sitting there, but only after you think "that was a great rhyme," to yourself a couple of times. There are, however, a few exceptions, where he ventures into more conceptually ambitious territory on songs like "This is Our Youth" and "Like What They Like," turning a critical eye to the city's nebulous cultural landscape while attempting to sketch out his own piece of the puzzle.

The enjoyment and accessibility gleaned from the composition, production, and performance of these songs make them feel like the product of a true pop aficionado; the Jason Faulkners and Adam Schlesingers of the world. There is something effortless about his creations, but no less enjoyable than any other song. Goodman, something like a late-night staff writer, seems to have written a thousand of these things, and went with the good ones. Like any great pop song, they feel as disposable as they do classic.

The Personal Review:

There's this guy I know, Goodman, and he just made a record. It's great. Don't let the cover weird you out. It's not all that different to his last one either, it has the same guitar sound, drum sound, Oliver is producing it again, it's the whole nine. Word on the street is that he's pretty anal about his vocal takes, which are, you know, always great, but it takes a lot of energy to get them perfect. He's also really particular about making sure Zac Coe is always doing that same "Boom BAP BAP- Boom BAP- Boom BAP BAP" drum pattern thing on almost every song. It's like, he knows who he is and he wants you to know too. I mean, He's had the same haircut for I don't know how long, and he's got that jacket that he always wears...same with the scarf. Could be 90 degrees he'd still have a scarf. Buddy of mine saw him wear it at the beach once. It's like he's trying to brand himself or something.

So here's the weird part. Goodman came up to me at a party the other night, and he was like, "Yeah, we would talk about you listening to the record when we were making it…" or something like that. So, does that mean that it was made for me? If I don't like it then does that mean they failed in making their record? If I don't like how the acoustic guitar sounded; does that mean that they failed at recording those guitars? I don't know. That's heavy. I don't know, the lyrics are kind of a bummer sometimes. But it's cool. The record is cool. He's a funny guy too, but like, pretty much mainly on the Internet.

The Reactionary Review:

Figures you'd have a picture of yourself on the cover of your record, you stupid ass hat. I'm gonna choke you with your stupid fucking scarf. Isn't it sad? Yeah. Yeah it's pretty fucking sad that I don't get to experience the season fucking premiere of House of Cards the way everyone else got to. Last week I heard my roommate watching it and then he was like, "OH MY GOD. THATS CRAZY" and I was like, "What?!?" and he was like, "You'll see, man." I couldn't wait, Goodman, I couldn't fucking wait. But that night, it all went south.

I went on Facebook, and scrolled through my news feed. And what did I see? "RIP Zoe Barnes #HouseOfCards."

He just said it. Without an ounce of remorse. What kind of monster does that? What kind of morally void scum sucking bottom feeder bowlcut goon face weasel says something like that as though they couldn't imagine anyone caring that much about anything ever GODDAMMIT GOODMAN HAVEN'T YOU EVER FELT LOVE? OR COMPASSION? Is there a bowl ut around your heart keeping you from letting anyone in, or get too close? Why would you hurt so many people like that? They were people you loved and who loved you, I read the comment thread.

Zoe Barnes is dead and I didn't even get to enjoy it. You know who did? The FUCKING PRESIDENT! He tweeted about the show and he said NO GODDAMN SPOILERS. YOU DISOBEYED THE MOST POWERFUL MAN IN THE FREE WORLD! Do you feel like a big man now? Fuck this fucking record. It is sad, Goodman. It is sad.

Also I've still only seen the first episode so… no more spoilers.

Pete Kilpin is the bassist of The Great American Novel and a really sharp dresser.

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